Encapsulated
by lulgijak
Summary: Glimpses of the inhabitants of Capsule Corporation and their various interactions with the resident Prince as Vegeta resentfully adjusts to life on earth - told in stand alone episodes.
1. Chapter 1 Pariah

"And this oneee," the light prance of ballerina slippers thudded over the dark mulch to a brightly flowering shrub, "is my prize-winning rose bush!"

"Beautiful," politely murmured one of the three aliens grouped around the garden.

Mrs. Briefs beamed her delight. "Aren't you so sweet? Would anyone care for a glass of lemonade?"

"..."

"Mom, how many times do I have to tell you; they don't drink lemonade or anything else other than water," sighed her daughter.

"Oops, hahaha!" the older woman giggled, "I forgot!"

"Anyway, could we get back to my question about these designs for the space craft; I could really use some input from you, Moori-san."

"I'll be happy to assist in any way that I can," the Namekian elder graciously consented, following the blue-haired scientist toward the research building, he nodded once toward Mrs. Briefs and his other two companions as he departed.

"Buh-bye," chirped the lighthearted hostess, "see you at lunch, dear!" Then, taking each of the remaining two nameks gently by the arm, she lead them away further into the garden, babbling airily as they went.

No one noticed the shadowy figure looming under a nearby trellis, like a jagged piece of gardening equipment that someone forgot to put away. Vegeta watched the party pass him by through a thorny veil of clambering rose bushes. All the while, behind his impenetrable gaze, an unbidden memory slowly began to surface as they recently tended to do more and more often.

Within a flash he was back on Namek, surrounded by crumpled forms scattered over the blue grass soaked deep purple by namekian blood. His hand still tingled from the energy released only moments ago, unloaded like the wrath of a merciless divinity upon the village of obstinate slugs. Their feeble defense had amused him initially, and he'd freely allowed the insects to direct their collective ki blasts at him. However, once their token warrior decided to deliver some serious opposition and Vegeta was actually forced to put forth effort, he quickly grew tired of the game.

With one satisfying explosion, he wiped out the remaining villagers. Normally, he liked to draw out the killing when he was in a playful mood - using fleeing civilians for target practice was always an amusing way to hone his aim - but he was too anxious about attaining his dragon ball and immortality to bother with pointless games. And now he had it: clutching the large orange nest egg for a fleeting moment, he promptly deposited it into a watery vault before taking off.

But he hadn't gained immortality - only humiliation. He'd skulked around a kami-forsaken planet for a few days, filching magic orbs away from a despotic lizard like a mouse stealing morsels from a cat's mouth only to end up crushed in its jaws. In the end he'd been accidentally rescued by a group of creatures he wouldn't have deigned to spit on, and the third-rate, earth-raised Kakkarot had usurped him of his Legendary birthright. The memory slowly smoldered within him until he felt ready to rip all of West City and its inhabitants to pieces with his bare hands.

Vegeta wasn't sure exactly what checked him from doing just such a thing on more than one occasion since coming to live at Capsule Corporation. Certainly not fear of repercussion - the fool Kakkarot remained indefinitely somewhere in the reaches of space, meanwhile he was matchless on this planet. Were he so inclined he could rule it like the monarch he was, however, the idea of being the supreme overlord of such a sad mud ball was almost as insulting as the chagrin he suffered on Namek. The best answer he could come up with was simply that he had nowhere better to be and, for the moment, cared about nothing other than attaining super saiyan and then meeting Kakkarot once again.

At least being at the most technologically advanced facility on the planet afforded him the best training equipment he could hope for - and plenty of room and food also helped (The blue-haired woman hadn't been lying about that). He merely existed for the time being; he lived only to get stronger and reach his goal. Beyond that, he thought of nothing else.

Setting out for his regular training spot, Vegeta stood, brushed the grass off himself and took off for the large testing area on the outskirts of Capsule Corp's property. The signature of a high ki nearby alerted him to the presence of the weakling known as Yamcha; the earth warrior was occupying a space of land not far from where the Prince intended to train - far too close for Vegeta's tolerance. Without preamble, the saiyan overtly flared up his own ki. Once he was certain he had the other man's attention, he calmly landed nearby - an aura of energy billowing out around him.

The scarred human stood regarding him with reserved consternation and indignation. "What are you doing here - _Vegeta_ ," he spat the other man's name like a curse.

"I've already claimed this space," stated Vegeta with a smirk, "so you'd better go find somewhere else to practice your feeble forms."

"Hey," a snarl further disfigured his already marred face, "I was here first; besides, this whole area is huge! There's plenty of room for both of us - we wouldn't even have to see each other!"

Vegeta's smirk never wavered, a growing ball of energy slowly electrifying his upturned palm, "I need a great deal of room, so go train in the desert."

Yamcha appeared ready to put up a fight, but eyeing the deadly sphere Vegeta held he quickly thought better. He fixed the prince with a look of absolute animosity, "You know, I really don't know what the hell Bulma was thinking when she invited you to live here; you're a complete bastard and you always will be. There's nothing good about you!"

The saiyan's nasty smile only widened. He said nothing and only watched as the other man retreated into the air and took off. After looking on with satisfaction for a moment longer, Vegeta finally turned his attention back to his primary reason for coming to the grounds in the first place. He needed to train. So, drawing a deep breath he took his first stretch and the whole grueling process began.

Exertion on this planet was extremely frustrating to say the least; gravity was so low, he could perform the same exercises he normally would under much heavier pressure all day here and never even break a sweat. He'd become aware that the doctor had made a ship that endured up to 100x earth's gravity in which Kakkarot had trained on his way to Namek, however he'd never bothered to have the old man come up with something similar for him - at least not for the time being – partially because the idea of following after his low-class counterpart made Vegeta's stomach turn. Instead, he'd determined to use his own methods for as long as possible before stooping to solicit the lowly earth scientists.

If undaunted vision counted for anything (for there was no shade of doubt concerning his own ability within Vegeta) he was already well on his way. Without having witnessed it firsthand, he still had no difficulty picturing himself as the Super Saiyan - could taste it like a delicacy he knew by intuition. In his mind's eye he hovered over a battered and barely alive Kakkarot who looked satisfyingly similar to how he had at the end of their first fight. Vegeta, on the other hand, guffawed heartily from above this time, scarcely a scratch adorning his cruel, dusty face. Things were now as they should be in the universe - with himself once again at the apex of power; he was the strongest in the universe.

Now all that was left was to finish off the inferior upstart who'd dared to snatch his legacy from him (never mind that, out of desperation, he'd begged the other saiyan to become the Legendary after he'd failed to do so). Vegeta instantly and ruthlessly crushed the renegade thought that flitted unbidden into his brain as if it were Kakkarot himself. Regardless of the weakness he'd shown upon his demise by Freiza's hand, he would regain what he'd lost with interest. Never again would anyone hold dominion over him - he would regain his pride as prince and a warrior only after he killed that soft-headed reject to his race.

With gusto he discharged a volley of ki blasts onto the imagined Kakkarot, watching avidly as they tore holes through the other man until he was no more than a smoking crater scarring the earth. By now Vegeta had grown slightly out of breath, possibly from the adrenaline rush brought on by his pleasant little fantasy, nevertheless it meant he'd finally hit his stride and the workout had just begun.

Hours later, thoroughly and sufficiently weary from the relentless grind of his workout, Vegeta stomped his way into the Briefs' kitchen and gave his dinner order to one of the robot servants that milled around awaiting commands. He'd once done the same thing to the doctor's scurrilous daughter. Bulma Briefs, however, did not mill around awaiting commands - especially not his – as she'd so explicitly and profusely communicated to his highness.

Concerning the plucky heiress Vegeta vacillated somewhere between mild amusement and total disgust, generally leaning more toward the latter. The funny thing was (despite how often he accused her of being otherwise) she wasn't stupid by any stretch of the imagination - if her formidable technological prowess demonstrated anything. It would figure that her brains (and looks) would have to be counterbalanced by a complete lack of judgment.

His outright villainy should have been obvious to a lobotomized slug, yet she'd inexplicably invited him to live at her house just like he was another grinning buffoon interchangeable with Kakkarot. This more than anything affronted him almost to the point of vaporizing the entire compound and everyone in it just to prove a point.

Without waiting for his food, Vegeta strode away toward his own personal suite of rooms. The doctor's wife who'd spotted him from the hall called out her cheerful greeting which he didn't acknowledge. After slamming the door shut on the rest of the household, the prince went to his shower.

His arms down to his fingertips still tingled with energy and Vegeta savored the dull ache deep in his muscles. Each step past exhaustion brought him ever closer to his goal. He needed to drive himself even harder, however. He longed to get his hands on some of those senzu beans Kakkarot possessed - then he could push himself to his very limits, vastly increasing his current power level instantaneously. If only his primitive host planet had the technology to build rejuvenation tanks!

After his shower, Vegeta pulled on a pair of sweats and sat down on the edge of his bed to rest for a moment before heading back down to the kitchen. His mind continued to swim with the thoughts of super saiyan. He reached a hand toward the bright golden glow radiating from his destiny and allowed it to engulf him in prophetic warmth.

When he opened his eyes once again with a start it was to the obnoxious sound of incessant knocking coming from his door. Vegeta sat up with the realization that he'd been sleeping. He opened his mouth to snarl at the knocker to get lost before he took away any option with a blast from his palm, when the door suddenly sprang open and the Breifs' daughter popped her head in like a blue-haired jack-in-the-box.

"Vegeta; are you in here," she called to the obviously present saiyan. Her eyes darted briefly over his bare torso before quickly fixing back on his face.

The prince fixed her with the same look he usually spared for the people he was about send to another dimension, but he might as well have been glaring down a brick wall for all the reaction he got as Bulma frowned dauntlessly back.

"You didn't come down to get your food and now it's starting to get cold; I just wanted to make sure you hadn't forgotten."

"Why would I forget my own dinner," Vegeta snapped, agitated at the foolish predicament he suddenly found himself in, "now get out of here you idiot."

Bulma recoiled at first, and then her upper lip curled into a slight snarl. "Excuse me, you royal ass, were you waiting for it to be carted up to your room? If so, then have a wonderful wait." With that, she turned on her heel. Stunned, Vegeta watched her dramatic exit with a mixture of indignation as well as something bordering on amusement.

All at once, before he even had the chance to decide on his response, she paused and spun back around to face him. "Oh, and another thing," her hands were now on her hips as she scowled over at the reclining killer like he was nothing more than a willful child for her to scold, "I heard about what you did to Yamcha earlier; you've got some nerve! You can't treat my boyfriend that way, Vegeta."

If he'd been nonplussed before he was now stunned past the point of response to the outrageous woman's reproach. He could only sit with his mouth ajar at her audacious and ludicrous defense of the human fighter. Bulma seemed to take his speechlessness as an expression of guilt or possibly intimidation as she crossed her arms satisfactorily and turned away.

"Just remember whose home you're staying at," she admonished as she made to close the door after herself.

Within a second, Vegeta stood behind her and very neatly placed a finger against the edge of the door, watching calmly as the human woman jerked to a halt in her progress. Bulma turned around, befuddled, only to jump at his sudden nearness. Vegeta stared eye to eye with the woman who blinked back in unmasked shock before quickly arranging her features back into an indignant expression.

"What-"she began.

Vegeta cut her off with a dark and humorless grin. "Perhaps it is you who should remember who you have invited to stay in your home, or have you forgotten already?" He shoved open the door and stepped toward the woman who began to back away from him. Vegeta put his finger to her forehead and effortlessly pushed her against the wall, holding her there. "I might remind you that with this finger, I could vaporize your entire compound, or snuff out your feeble life right in this hallway," he then leaned close to whisper in her ear, "you wouldn't even have time to scream."

With deep satisfaction, he watched her blue eyes widen with the terror he'd seen in countless victims' faces over the years. She would certainly remember the bloodthirsty sociopath she'd met on Namek now and show herself to be the sniveling little nitwit he knew her to be. From now on she would creep around him and he would no longer have to suffer her blithe drivel and attempts at friendliness – he could be left the hell alone in this damned household!

"You…you…" Vegeta could see her attempting to form words with her trembling lips.

"What's that," he taunted, "do you have something you'd like to say?"

The woman gulped and took a steadying breath, her gaze suddenly hardened, "You're nothing but a bully!"

Vegeta pulled back in surprise, his finger dropped from her head. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a bully, Vegeta! Would it really kill you to act like a decent person for once?"

All of the amusement had drained from the saiyan's face, replaced with a deepening flush of genuine anger, "I thought I made it clear: I am not one of you weak-minded fools – I don't need friends. All I need is a place to sleep and train, which you offered to me to begin with, so if you've changed your mind then I'll gladly find somewhere else where I won't have to put up with your constant bitching!"

"No," Bulma practically shouted, her own face reddening, "I invited you to stay with us and I meant it!"

"Then shut up and go away," he fired back, louder.

"Fine; no problem! I'll never speak to you again and you can just train until you keel over dead – you'll never be able to beat Son-kun anyway!"

"Oh, I'll beat him – I'll _destroy_ him – and then I'll destroy everything and every _one_ he ever loved," he pressed his palms on either side of her, pinning her ominously between himself and the wall. Bulma merely glared back.

Without a word she ducked down; Vegeta watched her cerulean head dip below his solar plexus, then pause. For a brief moment he was acutely aware of her face hovering inches from the flimsy pair of sweats that alone remained between them. Within that instant of distraction, she slipped neatly under his arm and out of the trap he'd made without once touching him.

"Good luck with that," she called over her shoulder as she marched away and turned the corner.

Vegeta's lips pulled back in a snarl as he watched her go – ' _That bitch!'_

Incensed and no longer thinking about food, the alien prince stomped back to his room and slammed the door. He was keeping a tally and would make her pay for her insolence later. For now he had much more important things to focus on.

Flopping back down on the bed, he laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes – picturing, once again, the Legendary Super Saiyan lording over the rest of creation with no equal. One day he would know such power. Beings throughout the universe would pay him homage while his enemies were mercilessly crushed under his heel. On that day when he had finally achieved his dream, the first thing he would do would be…

But he was already beginning to drift back to sleep, and another day of training awaited him tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2 Observations

Had he ever actually bothered to stop and consider it, Vegeta would have admitted that one of the things he appreciated most about the distinguished Dr. Briefs was how he was easily the least vexing of all the creatures the former intergalactic mercenary was now compelled to share the same oxygen with ever since becoming a resident at the sprawling Capsule Corporation compound. Unlike his babbling moron wife or bitch daughter, Vegeta could and had endured the doctor's company for longer than ten minutes at one time - literally the only person on earth he'd done so with. The aging man spoke sparingly, kept to himself (offering the royal saiyan the same luxury) and did exactly what Vegeta instructed him to do without complaint and only minimal balking.

On the contrary, the older scientist seemed to relish the challenge of building a 300G gravity room to the diminutive noble's requirements once he'd gotten over the initial shock of the idea. Much to the impatient warrior's satisfaction, the room for his specialized training was completed within the month. Like a kid with a new toy, the saiyan had almost giddily leapt into his GR training regime, swiftly working his way up to full capacity.

So pleased was he with his superior new facilities (certainly much better than anything that pauper idiot Kakkarot had to work with) and the novel level of privacy it afforded him, that for weeks Vegeta barely even left the training enclosure. At last he could train his brains out for as long as he wanted with no interruption, and the room even had its own living quarters complete with food-stocks - yet another favorable mark in Vegeta's book. The only downside was a huge monitor affixed to the ceiling that provided contact with someone in a control room at any given moment of the day - that 'someone' generally turned out to be Briefs himself, or even more often, the blue-haired bitch harping at him about one thing or another. He'd considered destroying it, but knew to do so would most likely damage something else on the complicated machine, so he endured the mild inconvenience while mentally adding a dark mark over the favorable one he'd given the doctor earlier.

Nevertheless, after so many weeks of (virtually) uninterrupted training, even the activity Vegeta loved best after actual combat was beginning to become a bit tiresome. The elite found, as he wearily dragged his battered body up from the cold metal floor early one morning to the blaring of the room's built in alarm clock, that he actually didn't feel 'in the mood' for training right away! Assuming it must be because he was hungry (because he certainly was) he tersely commanded the alarm to silence and forced himself to his feet.

Plodding to his refrigerator he promptly emptied it of all edibles, and then did the same of the pantry. Vegeta chewed thoughtfully on his last bite of sausage before washing it down with a large gulp of milk, slamming the empty glass down with a decisive thump. Slightly more at ease, he still felt the nagging reluctance to jump straight into training once again. He stared around absently for several minutes at the awaiting GR that seemed to hum its impatience at the Prince. _I probably should go ahead and see to the restocking of my provisions while I'm still fresh_ , he finally reasoned.

Not long after, the heavy door to the gravity room creaked open and Vegeta's squinting eyes met the natural light of the sun for the first time in days. He crossed the silent, immaculately kept lawn, the occasional CC employee darting between buildings, a landscaper spreading mulch in a nearby garden, these were the only signs of life to be seen anywhere on the sprawling compound. Leisurely he reached the entrance to the main building and residence of the Briefs family, stepping inside.

A pair of hovering sentry-bots immediately bobbed around him, but the Prince spared them scarcely a glance and they quickly whizzed away. His remaining progress to the kitchen went unimpeded. Before he even reached his destination, his sensitive nostrils were already being tantalized by the sweet scents of baking.

"Oh!" A high-pitched, nauseatingly feminine voice squeaked next to his elbow as he stood before the spacious room with its appetizing aromas. The saiyan's head whipped around to behold none other than Mrs. Briefs beaming back at him.

"What a nice surprise, Vegeta darling," the blonde curly-top tittered as the swarthy assassin silently pondered how in the hell she'd managed to sneak up on him during just a fleeting moment of distraction. "You haven't come out of that gravity room in so long I was beginning to worry! It just isn't the same around here without your charming face to brighten up our little home, you know!"

As usual, he was at a complete loss on how to respond to her delusional gibberish other than to cut the airhead off as quickly as possible. "Listen carefully," he commanded, "I require provisions for my personal pantry without delay."

"Oh, of course, dear," cried the Briefs woman, a look of pure solicitude tightening her vacuous features, "I'll get on that for you right away - but is there anything else you would like in the meantime?"

Vegeta considered this for a moment as Mrs. Briefs waited expectantly.

"Yes." He motioned toward the large marble island where a steaming, beautifully stacked arrangement of apple and cheese danishes sat like a picture out of a magazine, "I will also require one of those."

The prince looked on dully as the older woman scurried over and plucked out one of each type and placed the pastries on a dainty napkin which she, in turn, placed upon a delicate, flower-adorned porcelain saucer. She then bustled back up, grinning delightedly, and held out the offering to him in both hands. Vegeta reached onto the miniature plate, crushing both sticky deserts in one fist before stuffing them unceremoniously into his mouth. He then briskly strode away before she could say anything else to him.

Vegeta roamed further into the interrior of the Briefs home; he wasn't in any particular hurry to get back to the GR and he wanted to pay a visit to his alternative living quarters in order to acquire a change of clothes and (he gave himself a quick sniff and grimaced) perhaps a shower.

He emerged from his suite several minutes later feeling considerably refreshed. Having attended to his food and grooming needs, the royal saiyan was ready to head back to begin his long delayed training for the day. He'd already made a beeline for the front door when something strange out of the corner of his eye caught Vegeta's attention. The warrior turned a sharp look on none other than the president of Capsule Corp. himself; the gray-haired man was tiptoeing cautiously along the wall of the large foyer, glancing furtively over his shoulder.

Vegeta had long since come to the realization that the Briefs (most especially the old man) were eccentric even by earth standards, and consequently wrote the current exhibition off as just another example of the doctor's nuttiness. _A fine line between genius and madness indeed_ , he mused grimly.

He was about to dismiss the old crackpot and continue on his way when the urgent clacking of little high-heeled shoes down the hall arrested his ears, immediately followed by a piercing call that could probably have sent all the dogs in the immediate vicinity into a howling frenzy.

"Yoo hoo, Sweetie, where did you go all of a sudden; the designer is here to help us pick out the material for the new draperies!"

Dr. Briefs's eyes instantly met Vegeta's and he pressed his finger conspiratorially to his bushy mustache, urgently motioning for the younger man to follow him.

The nonplussed prince merely stood and gaped back at the bizarre human, but Dr. Briefs had already set off once again - quickening his stealthy pace toward a niche containing a palm tree planted in a massive urn. The lab-coated man slid behind the tree and promptly vanished. Vegeta blinked; this was weird even by Briefs standards.

Despite himself, the suspicious saiyan approached the niche, peering into its shadowy recess. Upon close inspection he discovered a door upon the concave surface, still ajar from the doctor's hasty retreat.

"Oh Dearest, where are youuu," sang the harebrained homemaker, her clicking heels announcing her appearance around the corner at any moment.

Acting on his second instinct (his first would have been to simply vaporize the woman on sight with a quick blast of ki) Vegeta automatically turned the knob and slipped through the concealed door before he could be discovered by the meddlesome towhead.

The first sight to greet him on the other side of the entrance was a flight of steps leading down to a faintly glowing room below. Descending inquisitively, the prince soon found himself standing in what appeared to be a lounge of some sort. The walls were covered in a crimson geometrically patterned paper while dim yellow lights, recessed into the low ceiling, illuminated a counter with many glass bottles on it at the far end of the cavern. Across from the bar, in a large leather chair, sat Dr. Briefs.

"Ah, Vegeta, dear boy," exclaimed the scientist, getting to his feet, "so it looks like you made it after all."

The reluctant visitor whipped his spiky head from one side to the other. "What is this place," he demanded shortly.

"This," declared the older man, gesturing proudly around the room, "is my own little hideaway lounge where I go whenever I need some time to myself." He gave a conspiratory wink and shuffled over behind the bar, "here, let me pour you a beer." Dr. Briefs returned a moment later holding a stein in each hand, passing one to Vegeta, he then headed back to his awaiting chair and flopped back down.

Vegeta stared down into the pungent amber beverage for a moment, and then slowly took a sip. When he looked up again the doctor was watching him curiously. "Have a seat," the host indicated the chair next to him. Vegeta thought for a moment, taking another longer swig of his drink; it was the first earth alcohol he'd tasted and he didn't find to be displeasing. Perhaps he'd finish his glass before he headed back to his gravity training.

The saiyan had half expected the Doctor to attempt small talk or possibly pepper him with irritating questions about the GR as they sat drinking their beers, but much to his satisfaction, Dr. Briefs said absolutely nothing - and for once while in the same room with the inventor of his training equipment, Vegeta had nothing in particular to bitch about either. The silence between them was companionable - in fact it was the closest thing to 'pleasant' he'd experienced in the company of anyone since his resurrection from Namek, or even prior.

Vegeta awoke with a start to the sound of his own snoring, his face slumped into the nearly empty glass still clutched in his hand. Glancing up at the clock, he was shocked to realize an entire hour had passed while he sat around wasting valuable work-out time. The Doctor himself was getting out of his chair with a large stretch.

"Well, back to the old grinding stone," he turned to Vegeta, lighting a fresh cigarette, "Feel free to come down here whenever you feel like taking a break; I don't mind one bit."

The scowling prince made no reply, but only watched the old man head back up the steps and out the door. Allowing several minutes to pass before he followed, the royal saiyan then made a hasty exit from the main building and immediately back to his training.

000

"So let me get this straight," the blue-haired woman, hands on the hips of her baggy, grease-stained jumpsuit, inhaled sharply through her nose in that I'm-surrounded-by-idiots way which made the compact warrior's teeth gnash, "you ordered the computer to perform four separate tasks-"

"Five," he amended tersely.

"Oh right, _five_ separate tasks, all at once?"

"Correct."

"And - amazingly enough - it stopped working?"

"Yes; I was right in the middle of a flying uppercut punch under 300G when suddenly everything cut off!" He brandished a lividly swollen hand that had unintentionally plowed the entire way through the top of the gravity room at the abrupt lifting of the GR's crushing pressure - instantly taking out the com system and much of the essential wiring that powered the machine in one devastating blow. "Damn that senile old idiot - how dare he build me this defective piece of equipment!"

"My father is not to blame," the harpy suddenly shouted, stomping her foot, "it's _your_ fault for crashing the system in the first place; now _I_ have to spend the rest of _my_ day fixing it for you!"

The obsidian-haired alien clenched his entire body against her screeching protests. "Then instead of standing here with your stupid lips flapping why don't you hurry up get it fixed," he ground back between clenched teeth.

"Why you," the now scarlet-faced woman's mouth worked furiously, no doubt grasping for her own withering comeback, but Vegeta, satisfied with gaining the upper hand, promptly took flight (making sure to power up with a blast of energy strong enough to knock the flimsy girl on her ass and leave her coughing in the wake of his dust). Despite himself, he couldn't help the smug smirk that spread over his face as he heard her incoherent bellow of rage follow him all the way to Capsule Corporation HQ.

Vegeta didn't have to worry about running into either of the other two Briefs as he entered the sprawling foyer, both the Doctor and his silly wife were gone on a 'business trip', leaving their horrible spawn in charge while they were away - which was precisely the reason why he was reduced to calling on the blue-headed shrew to fix his room instead of the president of CC himself.

Muttering a curse as he considered how long it was going to take before he could get back to his 300G (the rest of the day she'd said, but considering how royally he'd gone out of his way to piss her off, he wouldn't be surprised if she took longer out of spite) he crossed the lobby until he was standing in front of the secluded door revealed to him by Dr. Briefs weeks earlier. The old man had said he was welcome to come down to the lounge at any time, and he hardly thought it made any difference anyway with no one home. Vegeta decidedly pushed the door open and descended the stairs.

The room was dark and cool, the scent of must and fermentation mingling in the damp basement air. Flipping on the lights, he stepped over to the bar, pulled down a stein, and filled it with dark liquid from one of the taps. Vegeta took a seat to begin enjoying his beverage when he noticed a magazine laying on the edge of the counter; it bore the image of an excessively enhanced woman spilling out of a negligee at least two sizes too small for her printed on its cover. Absently, he slid the item over and leafed idly through the pages as he drank.

There, folded into the center, the man suddenly paused at a picture of a model in a garage setting. She was garbed in a one-piece suit very similar to the one Briefs's daughter wore whenever she puttered around with her many gadgets (though he'd never seen Bulma wear hers in as quite an exhibitionistic fashion). The woman was half sitting, half leaning against a car, back arched indolently so that her ample breasts lolled out of her open uniform like a ripe pair of erotic fruits. He contemplated what their warm supple weight against his rough palms would feel like and snorted to himself as he considered how long it had been since he'd actually experienced such sensations.

Eyes traveling hungrily up the creamy torso like an unwrapped snack cake, Vegeta looked past the vapid pout of the model and instead into a pair of familiar blue eyes framed by a fringe of turquoise colored hair. Suddenly _she_ was smirking at him - daring him to take her right on top of the awaiting car. He smirked wickedly back, more than up to the challenge. However, before the fantasy could progress any further, the engrossed prince sensed the approach of someone coming down the stairs.

"Dammit, what's her problem," muttered a voice that immediately soured the saiyan's expression.

Slapping the magazine shut, he glowered toward the doorway as a scarred face sporting a blackening eye suddenly emerged.

Yamcha started in surprise when he noticed Vegeta hunched over the bar, then he too favored the shorter man with a grimace. "What are _you_ doing down here?"

"What does it look like," shot back the saiyan, taking another deep draught from his glass.

Vegeta imagined he could hear the gears grinding inside the earth-fighter's head: on the one hand, the last thing Yamcha wanted to do was sit in a lounge alone with Vegeta, however, he was far too cocky to immediately slink away just because the saiyan was already there. The prince watched smugly for several more seconds until the other man resolutely strode over and snatched his own stein from behind the bar and filled it. He then took a seat in one of the reclining chairs away from his unwanted companion, nursing his own beer.

The spike-haired space traveler continued to regard his unwilling companion out of the corner of his eye until the other man finally glared back.

"What are you looking at?"

"Who gave you that," Vegeta jerked a thumb at Yamcha's shiner, only causing the taller man to glower even more deeply. Vegeta chuckled nastily, "Did your woman do that to you? I always knew you were a weakling, but this is an all new low even for you."

"Shut up, you prick," snapped the former bandit, "you and your stupid gravity room have Bulma going completely berserk; I don't know why she even puts up with your bullshit! We were supposed to be going out for lunch today, but for some reason she insists on spending all her time fixing your crap instead." He took a vicious swig of his alcohol, "I told her she was an idiot for always bending over backwards at your beck and call - so she threw a wrench at me!"

If what the low-class fighter was telling him was supposed to somehow make Vegeta feel bad, it was having the exact opposite effect. The saiyan prince simply guffawed, no longer quite so resentful for Yamcha's intrusion. "Is that right, well I'm sorry if your woman would rather service me than spend time with you; that's too bad."

As intended, Yamcha caught the double entendre and immediately bristled. A slew of profanities and threats issued from his mouth at the alien prince. He rose to his feet and pointed at the still seated Vegeta, "I swear to Kami, if you've been threatening her..."

"Yes, I'm very intimidated." Vegeta snickered a bit more, but waved off the retaliatory insults. Much as he enjoyed baiting the weaker warrior, it was just too easy - besides which, he wasn't particularly in a combative mood at the moment. Perhaps the alcohol's warm influence was actually beginning to mellow him. He indicated to Yamcha to sit back down as he unconcernedly took another drink.

Once again, Yamcha carefully debated his next move before finally accepting the offered 'out' and sinking back into his chair, privately relieved (though he would have sooner died than admit it) to have an excuse not to fight the would-be conqueror of earth.

He settled on shooting Vegeta a sullen look, "How did you even find out about this place anyway?"

"The old man showed it to me - obviously," answered the other man.

"Why would he do that?"

Vegeta shrugged in mild irritation, "The same reason he'd show you I suppose - he was bored and had nothing better to do."

Yamcha snorted derisively, but said nothing (advisable as the former villain's amiable mood was beginning to wear thin). Vegeta finished off his quaff and refilled his glass. Meanwhile Yamcha's eyes traveled absently over the bar to the forgotten magazine Vegeta had discarded upon the second man's entry.

The bandit's eyebrows rose with intrigue bordering on amusement, "It seems you found some interesting reading material."

Vegeta spared his companion a humorless glance. "Vaguely interesting, perhaps," he replied, noncommittally.

For some reason, Yamcha seemed particularly pleased by the prince's answer; he took a final long gulp and stood to get his own refill. As he approached the bar, he leaned conspiratorially toward the stout saiyan, a glint of mischief sparkling in his dark eyes, "I'm just curious, Vegeta, do you have any _other_ interests besides training your ass off to beat Goku?"

The aristocratic mercenary immediately turned a dark smile on the other fighter, "Certainly - just like you have other interests."

"Um, what?" Yamcha's brows suddenly puckered in wary surprise.

"You heard what I said," his eyes shifted momentarily toward the porno mag, and then met Yamcha's once again, his smile never wavering.

"Look," the increasingly flustered human began, "I don't know what you're getting at, but I don't appreciate your..."

"You can drop the innocent act," Vegeta interrupted flippantly, "you may fool her, but who exactly do you think you're talking to right now? You should be glad she stays so busy, or even that thick-headed woman of yours might start to catch on to your meanderings."

Yamcha's gaze dropped to his mug. He stared into the light brown liquid for a long time, the tinge of shame reddening his cheeks made Vegeta's lip curl with disgust, before he looked the saiyan squarely in the face. "So are you going to say anything to Bulma, or what?"

Vegeta scoffed, "Why should I? It isn't as if I have anything to gain from it - other than more drama from that blue-headed harpy."

After glaring at the comment, Yamcha fell pensively silent for several moments. He leaned against the bar and drank deeply, staring absently over Vegeta's spiked tufts of hair at a spot on the wall.

"It isn't that I don't still love her, you know," the bandit spoke up abruptly, still gazing at the space behind Vegeta's head, "It's just that we've grown apart; ever since being wished back over a year ago, I don't know, things haven't been the same between us." He paused to run a hand through his shaggy mane, "I mean we've definitely had our rough patches in the past - hell, we've been a couple since we were sixteen!"

Vegeta regarded him as if Yamcha were a vaguely interesting show he'd found while randomly flipping through channels on TV, but was now growing bored with. "How special for you," he stated and slumped down, returning to his drink. He opened the magazine back up and held it in front of his face in order to effectively shut out his chatty companion once and for all.

"But every time I turn around lately it seems she's working on something for you," Yamcha went on apparently not taking - or choosing to ignore - the hint. "She never took any interest in my training before - and still doesn't."

Vegeta's eyes snapped up; he lowered his smut enough to glare at the sullen and scarred face. Much as he'd intended to completely dismiss Yamcha, The Prince of all Saiyans could not allow such an audacious statement to slide without comment. "Who gives a damn about _your_ training," the diminutive man sneered, "If less than three years from now androids powerful enough to annihilate the strongest warriors on this pathetic planet are coming to wreak havoc, who do you honestly think stands a chance? Even she understands the chasm of difference between you and me - you'd do best to stay out of the way and stop wasting her time."

Satisfied, Vegeta took a swig and went back to ignoring the stunned human. He was more than glad to get his fully functioning gravity room back several hours later.

Two weeks following the day of the conversation, Yamcha moved out of Capsule Corporation.


	3. Chapter 3 Motivation

At long last, he had surpassed his threshold and broken through to a whole new level of power. Vegeta basked in the euphoric feeling washing over him. Never slowing down for an instant, he plowed through the slew of training bots, laughing wildly. He was so close to Super Saiyan he could taste it – surely only a few more weeks and he would be there. Everything he'd ever dreamed of was almost within his grasp.

When he had finished off the last round of bots at 300 times earth's gravity and was busy working his way through the next onslaught, over the sounds of destruction, he suddenly heard the faint blip of the large overhead monitor coming to life. Vegeta swore loudly, blasting the heads off several more machines at once before screaming for the computer to halt the program. He whipped around, ready to kill the person on the other side of the screen for interrupting him at such a crucial moment. However, it wasn't the Doctor, or even his daughter staring back at the irate prince. The saiyan's acrid words died abruptly on his tongue as he found himself looking into the vapid face of none other than the idiotic blonde woman.

"Is this working; can you hear me? Hellooo…"

So shocked was he that he momentarily forgot his rage. Never had he been contacted in the gravity room by the Doctor's hair-brained wife before – he hadn't even realized she knew how to use the comm. system. Yet, here she was; Vegeta was completely at a loss on how to respond.

"Oh Vegeta dear, I'm so sorry to interrupt you, but I really need your help!" The fluffy-haired woman clasped her hands together entreatingly, "could you come up to the kitchen right away – it's an emergen-" Without warning, the screen blipped and went black and the man was left staring at where she'd been.

The prince turned a puzzled look around the GR, as if to check for hidden cameras or any other evidence of a prank. Once satisfied that no one was having a joke at his expense, he pondered what in the world the woman could have meant about an emergency in the kitchen. He had already decided to ignore her jabbering completely and attempt to pick up where he'd left off when his stomach emitted a loud growl. Vegeta presently realized he'd trained past his usual lunch time. Perhaps he ought to head to the kitchen and find out what Briefs's wife was prattling about after all.

With an aggravated sigh, the royal saiyan grabbed a towel, wiped the sweat from his face and chest, and pulled a shirt over his head. Exiting the training facilities, he took off for the dome-shaped dwelling – bracing himself for whatever he might find upon his arrival.

Vegeta stepped into the kitchen three minutes later, unsure of what he'd expected: perhaps a fire or maybe even a herd of the Briefs' gigantic exotic pets rampaging through the house, but not what he now looked upon.

Mrs. Briefs stood completely unscathed in the center of the large room – before her on the counter, sat an array of delectable-looking dishes. As soon as she saw the slight man in the entrance she clapped her hands together in delight. "Oh good, you're here Vegeta!"

"I thought you said there was an emergency."

"Yes, there is," she crossed the room to him, "I'm planning a very important dinner party for the executives of Capsule Corporation and I need help deciding what the main course should be!"

The prince gave her a look that could burn a hole through titanium, "This is what you called me for – do you have any idea what I'm working on, you idiotic fool!" For emphasis, he reached out and snatched a passing sentry bot from the air, crushing it in his palm like tinfoil and tossing it against the wall where it shattered into a hundred pieces over the tile floor. Immediately afterward, a second robot appeared to sweep up the debris.

The happy-go-lucky homemaker knit her brows together, placing her hands to either side of her face in dismay, "I'm sorry dear – normally I wouldn't dream of bothering you, but Bulma is shopping and my Sweetie-Pie is in meetings all day long…I just thought you might like to take a break and try some of these dishes prepared by the chefs; it would really help me out!"

Her reaction to his wrathful display had been somewhat less satisfying than the former henchman of Furiza had hoped; nevertheless, he cast a second glance at the assortment of food on the counter. Once again, his gut reminded him that lunch was overdue. Glaring one last time at the beaming Mrs. Briefs, Vegeta stomped over to the counter and grabbed a plate.

"Very well, if that is what you wish," he quickly emptied the contents of the plate in several large bites.

"That's the beef bourguignon," supplied Mrs. Briefs helpfully.

Without pausing, Vegeta took the next plate and devoured it.

"…And that was the lamb and potatoes, I think that is probably –"

But the prince was already moving on to the next dish, going through them one by one until every last one of the courses was completely consumed. Dropping the final plate onto the counter with a clang, he turned and strode past the woman.

"Oh, you're finished; what did you think of the duck," she asked the back of the retreating warrior. Vegeta made no reply, but headed back toward his gravity room.

"Alright dear, let me know when you've made a decision," she called after him.

000

Late that evening, rather than collapsing from exhaustion in the GR yet again, Vegeta managed to muster enough energy to drag himself upstairs to his room – looking forward to spending the night in a bed for a change. He had trained hard virtually the entire day, but had been unable to reach the same endorphin high he'd achieved before being summoned by the hair-brained Mrs. Briefs. The undersized elite did a slow burn remembering the entire incident: at this rate, he would have to leave Capsule Corporation in order to complete his training – otherwise someone might end up getting blown up.

After a quick shower, the prince slid between the luxurious sheets and shut his eyes, methodically emptying his mind of all the racing thoughts of the day. Tomorrow he would need to get the Doctor or Bulma to change the settings in the control room in order to keep that meddling house-wife from interrupting him anymore. The best time to do so, he decided, would be after a late breakfast once Mrs. Briefs had left the kitchen and he could eat in peace.

Though he was lothe to admit it, he'd gone so far as to alter his schedule in order to avoid this one silly woman – even getting up an hour later than he'd like so as not to see her in the morning. He'd never done such a thing because of anyone in his life! Something about the way she bustled around, her perpetual, almost manic cheerfulness caused a knot to form in the pit of his stomach – it was almost as if he were…what...absolutely terrified of her?

Vegeta rolled to his other side, gritting his teeth at the unbearable thought. He was the Prince of all Saiyans – this his pride would not tolerate! He was not afraid of anyone, most especially not the stupidest, puniest most ridiculous woman on this entire planet of weaklings! He would prove it to himself tomorrow and go to the kitchen whenever the hell he felt like it! On the other hand, decided the warrior, he was very tired from training all day and would probably end up sleeping later anyway…but, he was definitely not afraid of her, damn it.

An hour passed, then another; Vegeta tossed and turned, but found it impossible to turn off his brain. His thoughts kept returning to training, planning out his regiment for the next day and reviewing his progress. Despite how tired he felt, he couldn't relax. He'd had bouts of insomnia off and on ever since coming to stay at the Briefs' house hold, but especially in the past couple months. Sometimes he would also have troubling dreams – a problem that had only ever vexed him since his revival from Namek. He didn't know what to make of these aggravating developments other than to blame the peaceful surroundings of earth for putting him on edge.

With a weary curse, the man sat up and slid out of bed, deciding to try and find something that might help him get to sleep. He didn't keep any medicine in his bathroom cabinet – relying on pharmaceuticals to cure things such as aches and sleeplessness was very un-saiyan. However, he sometimes had luck with chamomile tea or warm milk (for reasons unknown to the rest of the household, these remedies posed no threat to his sense of warrior-hood) or when those didn't work, a strong drought of beer usually did. He was already halfway down the stairs when he heard a clatter as of pots and pans coming from the direction of the kitchen. Immediately Vegeta wondered if the house had been broken into; a slight thrill raced through him at the thought that he might get to kill someone.

Without a sound, he glided down the rest of the stairs and headed in the direction of the kitchen. Whoever it was certainly didn't seem to be concerned about how much noise they were making; it would have to be a very stupid robber. Even as he reached the entryway, Vegeta recognized the signature ki of the person within. He walked in to find none other than Mrs. Briefs puttering around the stove at (he glanced at the clock) 2:00 in the morning.

"You," he started, "what are you…"

The woman made no indication to have heard him, instead bustling right past to the refrigerator.

Curious, Vegeta walked after her, standing a few paces behind as the woman rummaged through the fridge. Moments later she emerged holding a carton of eggs and headed straight back toward the large stove, not once glancing at the man who'd just joined her. After a close study of her face, the saiyan quickly realized that she was not awake. Mrs. Briefs was apparently sleep-cooking.

He watched as she deftly cracked an egg on the edge of a bowl and opened it in one smooth movement as if solely from muscle memory. She then picked up a whisk and began scrambling together the contents of the bowl.

Vegeta had never been warned against waking a sleepwalker, but even if he had been he wouldn't have cared. He had his own reasons for not wanting to wake Mrs. Briefs and none of them had anything to do with the woman's possible shock or disorientation at suddenly finding herself making breakfast in the middle of the night. Instead, he calmly sat down on the other side of the island and watched as she proceeded to cook an omelet in her sleep.

From where he sat, he couldn't quite make out all the ingredients she was adding to the dish; however some of them seemed a bit off. One of the boxes beside her read 'jelly beans' on the side – Vegeta had never seen beans that came from a box before (or ones so colorful for that matter). He assumed they must be some strange type of legume that only grew on earth. Not long afterward, the Prince noticed a strong smell and watched as smoke began to rise from the pan Mrs. Briefs flipped. The omelet flew upward about a foot in the air and landed with a heavy slap onto its other side.

Minutes later, the blonde woman with her hair rolled up into curlers and tied with a scarf, slid a rather charred looking omelet onto the counter and walked to the back door that lead out into the garden.

Vegeta studied the substance on the granite dubiously – he did not take long deciding that it wasn't something he wanted to eat. Instead, the stout warrior reached over and flipped off the burner before heading outside to see what the sleeping crazy lady was currently getting herself into.

He found her with a pair of clippers in her hands, trimming back her "prize-winning" rose bush. The man watched in mild amazement as one after another, flower heads began dropping to the ground where the sleeping Mrs. Briefs methodically lopped the tops off her beloved roses.

Casually, he bent down and picked up one of the fragrant decapitated heads; he could already picture the tow-headed gardener's expression the next day as she walked out to find her beloved flowers hacked to pieces as if victims of some deranged, plant serial killer. Without warning, a grin cracked his face and Vegeta let out a wicked chortle. No matter what, he needed to be around when that happened.

After she'd finished "pruning" the roses (as well as the garden hose) the industrious Mrs. Briefs abruptly dropped her hedge clippers and wandered off once again.

Vegeta sighed; as amusing as it had been at first, he was growing weary of following the batty old woman around. He was about to turn around and head back inside when noticed that she was walking in the direction of the street. There was no telling how far she would continue to wander before she turned around or woke up (provided she wasn't run over first). The former mercenary paused in mid-stride, deliberating on what he should do: it wasn't his problem if she got herself killed, he told himself. On the other hand, it would certainly cause an uproar were anything to happen to the wife of the president of Capsule Corporation – and this would be very deleterious to his training schedule.

Leisurely, the scowling elite turned back around and started after the wayward sleepwalker. He caught up to her just as Mrs. Briefs stepped out onto the side street, but instead of crossing to the other side, the woman abruptly stopped and stood motionless on the blacktop. As luck would have it, at the same moment a large tractor-trailer came barreling down toward her.

Almost lazily, Vegeta held up his hand and released a low level energy blast directly in front of the vehicle, shattering its windshield. The truck swerved wildly before crashing into a large palm tree on the side of the road. Meanwhile, the blonde woman never moved as Vegeta reached the spot and glowered up at the disoriented driver sitting in the cab.

"Why don't you look where the hell you're going," he snapped at the driver. He then turned to snatch Mrs. Briefs from the road.

Amazingly enough, the woman was still sleeping. Neither did she show any signs of waking as Vegeta grabbed the back of her frilly gown and flew back to the great dome-shaped domicile carrying her like a burlap sack. He hauled her up the stairs to her room, depositing her at the door and giving it a sound rap to alert the Doctor.

"Come get your wife and keep her in bed, you idiot!" With a final huff, the Prince stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and stalked back to his suite for the night.

000

Vegeta lounged on a bench in a secluded part of the corporation grounds the following afternoon. His morning workout had been a complete bust with him barely able to withstand even 200 times earth's gravity before finally collapsing in a useless pile on the floor. He hardly felt he'd earned a break, but until he'd rested a bit and then had some lunch, any training he attempted would only be a waste of time.

His chin dipped lower until it gradually reached his chest; the royal saiyan let out a long snore.

"Ah Vegeta, are you sleeping?"

The man's spiked head instantly shot up, "No!" His eyes presently focused on a head of bright cerulean hair as he glared at the woman now staring at him over the top of the hedge, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I know you usually take a break before lunch and I just happened to see you out here," Bulma Briefs stepped around the bush and came to a stop beside the bench. She was wearing her usual boiler suit with the Capsule Corp. logo emblazoned on the breast and a pair of grease-stained gloves. She looked at the saiyan, awaiting his permission to sit.

Sullenly, the Prince removed his foot from the bench and scooted over a bare inch to allow her room. Bulma took the seat and turned to face him while Vegeta frowned back impatiently.

"So I guess you didn't get much sleep last night," she began sympathetically.

He crossed his arms, "What do you know about it?"

"Dad told me about Mom's sleepwalking incident; she hasn't done that in a while."

Vegeta merely grunted and looked away.

"Thanks for taking care of her," the woman continued, "she might have gotten hurt if you hadn't been around – it was very nice of you."

He raised his eyebrows and turned back to her, "Nice; is that what you think?" He gave a dry laugh, "Listen, the only reason your moronic mother isn't a stain on the street right now is simply because I'd rather have you available to maintain my training equipment than busy planning funeral arrangements."

Bulma stared drolly at him, "Is that really the reason," she asked with a wry smirk.

He recoiled from her skeptical amusement; immediately he could feel his blood pressure rising. "Are you mocking me – be careful woman…"

The inventor jumped up from the bench with a guttural cry, throwing her gloved hands into the air, "Would you just stop already? Why can't you even admit when you've did something nice for someone else; is your ego that fragile?"

"Shut up! Your mother's stupidity is only rivaled by your own!" Vegeta had also leapt to his feet and now roared in her face.

"And your pigheadedness had no rival at all," she screamed back.

The mercenary's onyx eyes smoldered like fiery coals; he sneered at the irate human derisively, "What a common, low-class woman you are – no wonder you couldn't even keep that third-rate, desert rat-fighter, Yamcha satisfied."

Vegeta watched his blow take effect as the color instantly drained from her face. Bulma stood motionless for a moment, absorbing the impact of the saiyan's words as if they were a punch to the stomach. Her large blue eyes suddenly grew overly bright and she glared at him with as much acrimony as he'd ever seen in her face before.

"You asshole!" Quickly, she spun round and marched away from him, furiously swiping her sleeve across her eyes as she went.

Vegeta observed her until she was halfway across the yard; she then pulled out a capsule and hurled it to the ground. A hover bike appeared and she leapt onto it, zipping off the grounds of Capsule Corp into the cityscape beyond.

With a sigh of finality, the Prince took a seat back on the bench and stared blankly out toward the cluster of buildings that made up the corporation. He'd successfully gotten rid of her and could now be alone with his thoughts once again – yet somehow he felt even emptier and more miserable than ever.


	4. Chapter 4 capitulation

The successor of Capsule Corporation could feel herself going cross-eyed from scanning through all the tiny lines of code that sped down her computer monitor. As much as she loved taking apart and fixing ridiculously complex pieces of machinery, searching for the glitches was her least favorite part of the process. She spared the prototype she was working on an impatient glance as the program completed its run; after just a few more frustrating minutes, Bulma had also finished her review of the lines. Her racing eyes at last came to a halt on a section of code which she immediately zoomed in on.

"Gotcha," she smirked triumphantly.

Within no time, the error was rectified and the beautiful genius could turn her full attention to the object at hand. Eagerly taking the headset, she tried it on and observed the outdoor view from a corresponding camera as a set of virtual gages appeared before her eyes. She was preparing to start the engine of the hover bike sitting outside on the lawn when, out of nowhere, lurking in the background of her control panel, she saw an ominous wall of black hair approaching through the glass of the workshop door. Bulma suppressed a heavy sigh.

The Prick of all Saiyans strolled into her work space moments later and halted a few paces within the room, looking expectantly at the inventor. Wordlessly he waited as she pulled the headset off, the camera view and bike's controls instantly vanishing, and turned to him.

"Vegeta, whatever you did to the gravity chamber, I will fix it in a few minutes – but I am trying to get the kinks worked out of this thing and I have a deadline to meet."

The compact warrior looked like he was about to retort back to her, but instead he abruptly crossed his arms and leaned against a large toolbox on the opposite wall, "I'll wait, then."

She blinked at this unexpectedly casual reaction. "You could go train in the atrium for now," she suggested cautiously, "just so long as you don't kill anything…"

"You said you would only be a few minutes, so I'll stay here," he insisted stubbornly.

Bulma looked self-consciously down at the gadget in her hand, then over at the unhelpful computer screen; when she glanced back up Vegeta was still in the same position with his onyx eyes fixed absently on her as if he were waiting for the start of a very dull magic show. "So are you just going to stand there and watch me," she demanded at last.

He gave an indifferent shrug, "So what if I do?"

"Well it's creepy; I can't concentrate with you in here – go somewhere else!"

The saiyan raised his heavy brows disbelievingly at her as he straightened up, "Don't be stupid – just finish what you're doing and I won't watch you!" He then turned and began to pace the room instead, his hands clasped behind his back as he paused to inspect parts from a half-assembled air craft lying discarded in one corner.

For a moment, Bulma gazed confusedly after him. She took note of the dark grey t-shirt stretched over his muscular back like a second skin and slacks that, while they complimented his toned ass nicely, were not part of his usual training attire. Upon further examination she saw no signs of perspiration on him – had he even used the gravity room recently?

"So what exactly is the problem you're having," asked the scientist, still fiddling idly with the headset.

The not-so-tall glass of water looked up and frowned at her question, "Do you mean with the gravity room?"

"Of course with the gravity room," she exclaimed in aggravation, "isn't that why you came in here in the first place?" His vacant behavior had Bulma suspecting something seriously wrong with the normally combative would-be monarch; maybe he'd hit his head too hard during training. "Vegeta are you feeling alright?"

Vegeta's confusion finally gave way to irritation, "What the hell do you mean by that; does it look as if I'm not alright?" He took a few steps toward her, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

She gazed back at him, "You don't actually want me to answer that do you?"

Vegeta shifted his weight and glared back, a sneer twisting his lips. "Someone is feeling her oats this morning."

"Listen," she sighed, "I don't have time for this: since you're obviously not going to let me get any work done until you get what you want, I guess I'll just have to drop everything – as usual – and go fix your problem right away!" She began to place the device that controlled the hover bike on the work table when suddenly the Prince was there and snatched the headset from her grasp. He held the complex piece of machinery up tauntingly.

"Hey, what are you–"

"You know, you're right; you've obviously got too much important work to be worrying about the quality of my training facility or the consequences for yourself and everyone else that you know, were I to somehow be defeated by those so-called androids in a little over two years from now." He nonchalantly crushed the technology as he spoke, crumbling it on the floor at his feet like cookie crumbs. "After all, that's going to keep you busy for a while."

He stalked out of the workshop amidst the scientist's shrieks of outrage.

000

Bulma did not see Vegeta for the rest of the day. She spent the duration of the afternoon repairing the destroyed prototype – it was only due to her sheer brilliance that she even made her deadline at all. The bastard didn't use the gravity room for the rest of the day, she noticed, nor did she see him anywhere else on the grounds or in the building. Where he might have gone off to she neither knew nor cared.

 _It would serve him right to be killed by androids_ ; she fumed, stifling a yawn as she gazed moodily out the window at the faint outline of the gravity chamber across the now darkened lawn. However, the thought of the saiyan being murdered by cyborgs brought her a faintly ill feeling, and not merely (she admitted) for the reason that Vegeta had pointed out. _I suppose it would be a waste of potential_ , conceded the woman grudgingly as she ambled to her room; _somewhere there's a decent man buried under all that muscle mass and misanthropy – I mean there has to be, right?_

Bulma yawned again and stretched, looking forward to a hot, much-earned bath before hitting the sack early. She reopened her eyes only to jump, uttering a squeal at suddenly coming face to face with the peevish tenant himself. Vegeta was propped listlessly against the railing at the base of the stairs as if he'd been waiting for her, he watched the woman with a cold smile.

"Alert as usual," he remarked dryly.

Her face flushed in anger. "No thanks to you," she snapped back.

"Your obliviousness is my fault?"

"Shut up! I've been working all day to rebuild the controls you destroyed – though I'm sure you love that," she waved him away dramatically, "Now would you please move aside and let me go upstairs?"

To her befuddlement, the prince stepped away without confrontation, allowing her access. Bulma cast him a suspicious glance, but the man only gazed coolly back under his heavy brows, waiting for her to proceed.

"Th-thank you," she huffed, "goodnight!" Cautiously as if he were a coiled snake, she brushed past him and headed up the stairs.

After she was a safe distance away, she sneaked a look over her shoulder to see Vegeta turn and begin walking in the other direction. Presently he paused halfway across the floor, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and addressed her without turning around, "Bulma."

She started at the sound of her name, "Huh?"

"About earlier – I'm sorry."

Bulma had to grab onto the railing to keep from falling down the stairs. She was grateful he could not see her stunned and most likely ridiculous expression. Certain she'd heard wrong because he'd been facing away, she decided to make sure, "What about earlier?"

He turned halfway to give her an irritable look, "About breaking the machine you were working on!"

"Oh." She was at a total loss for anything else to say.

While Bulma stood, still trying to wrap her brilliant head around the saiyan's words, Vegeta exhaled loudly and turned once again to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going," she called after him, breaking free of her trance.

"Kitchen," he rumbled without stopping, "I've already missed two meals."

"Where have you been all day long," she persisted. When the man didn't answer, but turned the corner, she headed back down the steps and followed after him, "Hey Vegeta!"

Vegeta paused in the entrance to the kitchen and graced her with another impatient glance.

"Um, you know, it's not that late yet – if you still wanted me to take a look at the GR for you I could."

The Prince gave his spiky head a brisk shake, "The GR isn't broken."

Bulma was taken aback, "Since when?"

"It was never broken to begin with – you just assumed that on your own." Without any further explanation, Vegeta entered the kitchen to leave her puzzling out in the hallway.

"Then what did you come into the workshop for in the first place," she cried out.

Vegeta's voice came back loudly, "Meddling woman – shut up and go to bed!"

000

Much to her chagrin, Bulma found herself thinking about the Merc of all Saiyans randomly throughout the next day. Something was certainly wrong with him, but she had no idea what it was. First his vacant behavior in the workshop yesterday, then his long absence from the compound, and finally his inexplicable apology to her – it was downright frightening! She even checked the gravity room at one point to see if he was using it; to her mild relief he was. Hopefully, things were back to normal.

One question that she couldn't shake no matter how she tried, however, was what Vegeta had wanted when he'd visited her in the shop yesterday if it wasn't to fix the GR. More than anything else, this was what she fixated on. Why, she wondered, had he revealed this information to her and then refused to elaborate on it? Possibly he just wanted to get under her skin by not telling her, but there still had to be a reason for his bizarre actions.

 _Just ignore him,_ she told herself, resisting the urge to make up an excuse to approach the standoffish saiyan and press him on the matter. _It's not as if he'd tell me anyway if he wouldn't last night._ Somehow she managed to follow her own advice for the entire day and by the time dinner at the Briefs' house rolled around she'd managed to dismiss him almost entirely from her mind.

Despite the family's chaotic schedule, Bulma's mother insisted on all of them coming together for evening meals whenever it was possible. Had she been able to (and she had tried valiantly) she'd have dragged Vegeta right into the mix as well, but as it was, she was obliged to make due with just her husband and daughter. Although it was technically winter, the family had decided to take their dinner out to the balcony that evening in order to enjoy the particularly nice weather they were having.

While her father disentangled the cat from his shoulder and placed it beside a saucer of milk and her mother poured drinks, Bulma gazed absently out at the manicured lawn as she worked out an equation for the next invention she had cooking up in her ever-busy mind. Past her mother's pink ruffled shoulder she suddenly spotted a dark-headed figure stalking toward the house. The scientist jumped to her feet without thinking and automatically called down to him.

"Hey Vegeta, we've got plenty of food over here – come on up!"

Occasionally, the reluctant warrior _would_ join the family at dinner time, even if only briefly, and consume several large servings before heading briskly away again. He rarely lingered or engaged in much conversation and even then only when it concerned some requirement or complaint he had. Nevertheless, Bulma now decided to extend the invitation. After having spent the majority of the day distracted by thoughts of him, somehow, it occurred to her that the reclusive prince might benefit from some company between his long stretches of training and whatever else he did with the remainder of his time.

The stout figure turned his severe (even from the distance she observed him from) expression toward the balcony.

Beside her daughter, Mrs. Briefs likewise waved enthusiastically. "We have appletinis," she sang out enticingly.

Though far off, she thought she noticed his brows rise almost imperceptibly. For a moment it seemed to Bulma that Vegeta was considering the offer, but after a short pause he turned and continued on his way without a word.

"Looks like you may have scared him away, Honey-Bunch," commented Dr. Briefs wryly to his wife.

"Oh dear," cried the blonde woman, putting her hands to her cheeks, "maybe he doesn't like appletinis!"

000

Two appletinis and nine hours later, the inventor lay in bed with her blue eyes shut determinedly against the incessant chatter reverberating though her head. At last ignoring her better judgment, Bulma snuck a look at the digital clock on her nightstand through one cracked eyelid and immediately groaned as 3:28 blazed itself into her retina. Her brain had been whirling with thoughts and ideas since dinner time and, like an open floodgate, she could do nothing to hold it back. Amidst her more mathematical and scientific musings, random thoughts of Vegeta also persistently and infuriatingly cropped up as well. Sleep would not come and the scientist's fingers itched to tinker with something, so with a sigh of resignation she yanked back the covers and reached for her robe. She would slip down to the workshop for an hour or so, get it all out of her system, then maybe she could finally relax enough get some rest.

"I'm going to have dark circles under my eyes tomorrow," she grumbled to herself, "I just know it!"

Treading lightly, Bulma made her way down to the first floor. She started toward the shop when suddenly her stomach gave an unhappy gurgle. The disheveled woman glanced thoughtfully in the direction of the kitchen, deciding to swing by and pick up a muffin first.

To her surprise, she found the lights on as she reached her destination. Bulma peered in to find a shock of vertical ebony hair seated across the room. Vegeta sat on a stool with his back to her at the island. Winter time aside, West City enjoyed a temperate climate and the extraterrestrial elite was naked from the waist up. A pair of drawstring pajama pants hung loosely off his narrow hips, and if she squinted, she could make out a pale pink scar rising just above the waistband at the base of his spine where a tail had once sprouted. For a moment she gazed mesmerized at the place before her eyes gradually traveled up his broad back with its crosshatch of faded scars. When Vegeta finally spoke, she nearly had a heart attack.

"Are you coming in or were you just planning to stand there mouth-breathing," he asked without turning around.

Bulma quickly recovered from her shock and huffed into the kitchen. She made her way around to the other side of the island and scowled at him, "I wasn't mouth-breathing."

Vegeta had sliced open a baguette and filled it to capacity with cold cuts and various toppings; he held half a sub in one hand while the second part of the foot sat, as of yet, untouched on his plate. A can of beer rested next to his free hand. Littered over the counter was an array of mostly empty jars and packages that had all contributed to the monstrosity that the voracious prince now bit into.

He cocked a dark eyebrow up at her and continued chewing. "I didn't expect to see you up at this time of night," his gaze roved over her form inquisitively.

Bulma presently realized that she was dressed simply in a Capsule Corp. t-shirt and a terry cloth robe, meanwhile her curly perm was without a doubt sticking up in every direction from her head. Hastily wrapping the bathrobe closed and smoothing down her cerulean tresses, she replied evenly, "I could say the same about you – can you not sleep or were you just so hungry you couldn't even wait for breakfast?"

Vegeta didn't answer, but took another large bite of sandwich.

The heiress suddenly noticed the man's haggard face for the first time. Judging by the deep circles surrounding his eyes, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. Bulma pulled back in surprise.

"Have you been training really hard," she asked suddenly with a hint of concern.

The saiyan scowled haughtily at her. "What kind of stupid question is that?"

"Don't get defensive – I just mean you look tired."

He once again said nothing, but continued to glare waspishly.

"Anyway," she went on, changing the subject, "I just came in to get a muffin, then I was going to go work for a little bit to see if it might help me get back to sleep…" She eyed him before cautiously adding, "Hopefully you can get some sleep too."

Turning and reaching for the handle, the woman did a double take as she opened the refrigerator. "Are you kidding? You practically emptied out the entire door! How did you manage to fit all that stuff on one sandwich?"

Vegeta washed down his bite with a swig of beer before taking another, "You're certainly full of profound questions tonight; I can tell it's going to be a productive evening for you."

Bulma's lip curled at the snarky comment. "Well, we can't all be mindless eating machines like you saiyans – what is that like? Do you just see a pile of food and have to defeat it?"

Vegeta's full mouth worked furiously; his eyes narrowed. "The problem isn't eating the food," he finally began after he'd chewed enough to form words, "It's keeping it down while looking at your face without any makeup."

"Oh is that right," demanded a reddening Bulma, she slapped her hands down on the island in front of him and leaned close to his face, "well look here, muscle head –"

His heated stare held hers.

She took a deep breath to continue her tirade, but deflated instead with a weary exhale. "Look, before we go any further," she conceded, "I think I'm going to make coffee; do you want some decaf or something?"

000

Several minutes later the woman sat across from the Prince, sipping her drink. Vegeta, in the meantime, had finished his 'snack' and also nursed a mug of the dark steamy liquid.

"I don't understand the purpose of this," he finally stated after several minutes of affable silence had passed.

She looked at him in confusion, "the purpose of what?"

"Isn't this beverage meant to wake you up – then why take out the stimulant that achieves that effect?"

"That's easy," shrugged Bulma, taking another sip, "so that you can drink it when you don't want to be awake all night."

"Then the simplest solution would just be to _not_ drink it at night," responded Vegeta blandly.

"But sometimes you want to drink coffee even if it isn't morning," Bulma countered.

"Why," he pressed.

She gave him an incredulous look, "Because it tastes good!"

Vegeta returned her confounded expression with an added hint of disgust, "What a ridiculous reason to consume something."

"Why is that ridiculous," balked the woman, "it's the main reason that people decide to eat or drink what they do – what about you? Why are you drinking it?"

Vegeta frowned at his cup before turning back to her, "Because it's something hot to drink."

"That's it; so you don't have a preference between coffee and say tea – or beer," Bulma gestured to the can still sitting on the counter, "What about food preferences?"

The saiyan seemed momentarily at a loss, as if he'd never been asked this simple question before. He crossed his arms and stared down into his mug, "I like foods that give me the most energy to train, so I'd say probably meat."

Bulma rolled her eyes as she took a longer sip, "Typical: it always comes back to training with you – I suppose it's the same way with Son-kun too, though. Don't you believe in savoring anything?" She then cast a sly look in his direction as a new thought dawned on her, "But as I recall, Son-kun didn't like coffee, so I guess you're not exactly the same as him after all."

As expected, the elite immediately bristled, "Do not in any way compare me to that soft-headed Kakkarot!"

The inventor suppressed a giggle and ducked her head. "Okay, okay, sorry!" She chanced a glance at his stormy features and winced – she still couldn't tell what was going to piss him off slightly and what was going to send him into a furious sulk that would last for days. She sighed: just when they were actually getting along, "Come on, don't get so angry…"

The man's head swiveled away from her on its thick neck and he glared out the darkened windows without saying a word. She watched him for a moment, her mind grasping for something that might reverse his mood. Another mischievous smile suddenly stretched over her face.

Calmly taking a bite of muffin and chasing it with a gulp from her mug, she leaned conspiratorially toward him, "You know, Son may not have liked coffee, but he once ate an entire basket of guest soaps because Oolong told him they were 'sweet tarts' – I swear that afterward he had bubbles coming out of both ends for hours!" At the memory Bulma burst into peals of laughter.

000

Out in the country far from West City, Son Goku rolled over in a dead sleep, suddenly letting out such a vehement sneeze that, beside him, Chichi was knocked out of bed into a tangle of sheets and pillows on the floor.

"Ouch! Goku, what's the matter with you!"

The earth's groggy savior sniffed loudly and leaned over to peer at his disheveled wife. "Oops, sorry Chichi, I don't know where that came from!" He reached out and helped her back onto the mattress.

"You'd better not be catching a cold," she warned, as if this were enough to intimidate him into being healthy again.

"I don't think I am," he rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, "I just get the strangest feeling that someone is talking bad about me somewhere…"

Chichi, meanwhile, had already lay back down and turned away from him, "Well, go back to bed and let me get some rest, or else you can go out and sleep in the woods tonight!"

Goku looked at her hopefully, "Really, I can?"

"That wasn't meant as a reward!"

000

Back in Capsule Corporation, Bulma gradually recovered from her laughing fit and glanced over at Vegeta to see if her anecdote had influenced the Prince's mood at all.

Vegeta was looking at her with something less than his usual scowl – it may not have been a grin exactly, but it was a start. She smiled back. A pause followed in which the heiress waxed mildly uncomfortable under the man's suddenly intent stare. She played with her food, tearing the muffin into pieces, still feeling the eyes of the saiyan on her.

"You know," she said at last, "I think I'm starting to feel a little tired after all; I think I'll go and try to get some sleep." She pushed the remainder of her muffin toward him and took her cup to the sink. She threw one last look over her shoulder as she headed from the kitchen, "Have a good night, Vegeta."

"I've hit my limit," he said from the table as she reached the entryway.

Bulma paused at the threshold, turning to observe the dark man's marred back to her. She frowned, "Come again?"

"That day I came to see you in your workshop," he went on without facing her, "I had an incident in the gravity room while the computer was set to 300 times gravity; in the middle of my training I suddenly became paralyzed. The force nearly crushed me to the floor. I just barely managed to reach the controls in time to switch it off." His shoulders hefted with a heavy breath and he muttered in a low voice, "I thought I was going to die."

Bulma was floored by the sight of the once infamous world conqueror slumping in defeat at her kitchen island. She could match him blow for blow when he tried to bully her, but she didn't know how to handle Vegeta when he was like this. "I don't understand," she began hesitantly; "I thought you'd mastered 300g a while back."

"That's just it," he angled himself toward her, one elbow propped on the counter, the other hand clenched into a fist on his lap – he gazed blankly along the opposite wall, "I have already mastered it – in fact until only a couple of weeks ago I was making fast progress; but I can't concentrate on training anymore!" His lips pulled back from his teeth in a raw grimace that could have stripped the finish from the cabinet doors he was facing. "I'm getting weaker, not stronger!"

Bulma took a step closer; her hand scratching her chin thoughtfully. "But what exactly caused you to become paralyzed in the first place," she wondered with a researcher's curiosity, hoping at the same time that she wasn't treading too much on his already sore ego.

For a split second his eyes met hers and in the shadowy light she thought she caught a glimpse of the answer there before he looked promptly back to the counter.

Bulma felt a jolt of pity tighten her chest – not the kind of reaction that he would ever want directed at him she knew, but she couldn't help it. Seeing the arrogant warrior at his lowest was almost too painful for her to watch.

"Vegeta," she ventured, with growing realization, "was it a panic attack?"

For a moment he sat in the same position at the counter amidst its chaotic array of jars, containers and utensils. She watched as his angular jaw ticked silently, then slowly he faced her, the mask of disdain firmly back in its usual place. "That's right; you were on your way back to bed, weren't you?"

"Does it have anything to do with facing the Cyborgs?"

With a renewed burst of passion, he leapt to his feet; his eyes obsidian daggers. "The only thing tethering me to this dung-heap of a planet is the chance to fight those damned rust-buckets! Did you think I was doing all this training just to save a bunch of sniveling earthlings – don't make me laugh!" Not that the alien looked even remotely amused as he stood glowering at her.

Bulma did her best to repress her aggravation in return, "Alright, so if it isn't the Cyborgs what is it? Help me to help _you_ , Vegeta."

"Who says I want your help," he scoffed in outrage.

"If you didn't, then why did you just tell me the things you did," she reasoned in a scarcely calmer tone. "Besides, I saw how you looked yesterday – you were a complete mess, so stop acting so proud and tell me what's got you this shaken!"

He was centimeters from her face within two seconds and holding her in his coal-black glare. Bulma could feel the heat radiating from his dark, unyielding form and readily appreciated the inconceivable danger he presented if he so chose. She stood immobilized as he hissed into her face, "Nothing. Do you understand? I fear _nothing_!" His hot breath sent a quick chill down her spine.

Not to be daunted for long, the blue-haired babe took a steadying breath before she replied in a low voice to the wall of raw antagonistic power before her, "Then what is wrong with you?"

For a long moment he neither moved nor spoke as his menacing eyes bored into hers, but as she watched, she thought she could see a slow crack beginning to form in the saiyan wall. Almost imperceptibly, his intense scowl relaxed, his shoulders drooped and his face betrayed his deep weariness. An unintentional sigh escaped his lips as he answered honestly, "I don't know."

Brilliant though she may have been when it came to all things mechanical, Bulma was no psychologist and had no immediate response to this distressed confession by the saiyan. She gazed back almost apologetically, however, it didn't seem – based on his reaction – that the prince really expected her to have an answer. Vegeta blinked resignedly back, his expression appearing strangely more at ease all of a sudden.

Nevertheless, the distracted woman did not take long in realizing that she was still standing so close to him that she could count Vegeta's sparse eyelashes. A wave of self-consciousness washed over her and Bulma fought the urge to take a step back; her eyes dipped reflexively downward toward his chest instead. While appreciatively taking in the view of his well-developed musculature, she noticed one of his arms reach toward her. Bulma stiffened as the thick appendage slid to the small of her back and gently but firmly drew her against the hard torso. Almost urgently, her stare darted back to his face.

Vegeta's mouth was against hers before she could draw a breath. Of their own volition, her arms threw themselves around his neck and she allowed herself to be guided toward the wall beside the kitchen entrance way.

000

Several minutes passed before Bulma's feet once again touched cold marble tiles. Almost immediately, her knees gave out and she slid to the kitchen floor in a quivery mass, still panting vigorously – her damp, curly hair fanning out around her head against the wall behind her. Vegeta stood, feet now firmly planted on the floor in front of her, gazing evenly down at the blue-haired heap. Conversely, he displayed little evidence of the exertion that had just taken place other than the fine sheen of perspiration glazing his naked torso. Bulma's eyes slid absently to the small pile of hastily cast off articles to her right, consisting simply of Vegeta's pajama bottoms and her white cotton panties.

"Wow," breathed the woman presently with a small laugh, "I've never done _that_ before – I mean so far away from the ground…"

The dark prince cast one of his smarmiest smirks down upon her, "You're welcome."

The woman rolled her eyes, but couldn't find it in herself to be too annoyed. Rather than remain on the floor within awkward vicinity of Vegeta's undercarriage, she pulled herself to her feet, snatching up her underwear and straightening her rumpled shirt and robe. "We'd better get out of here before anyone comes down and finds us like this – take these," she tossed the pair of pants at him.

Vegeta caught them wordlessly and slipped them back on as Bulma quickly surveyed the clutter on the kitchen island. Dismissing the mess with a wave of her hand (one of the staff would take care of it later that morning) the heiress exited the room and headed up the stairs with Vegeta following closely behind. The moment they reached the landing, she turned back to the now rather languid elite who lounged against the wall beside the stairway.

"Well, I hope you have a nice…night," she mumbled lamely after an uncertain pause.

The man only stared back blankly. Having no idea what to do next, Bulma finally turned and headed for her room.

"Bulma," came a gravelly address from behind.

"Eh," the woman whipped around with a start.

Vegeta was still in the same position by the stairs that she'd left him in; his face remained expressionless – at least as far as she could tell in the dim moonlit hallway. After she'd waited several moments for him to continue, the Prince abruptly straightened up and headed the opposite direction for his own bedroom suite. "Goodnight," he threw over his shoulder before completely melting into the shadows.

She was left gaping stupidly after him.

000

The following day, Bulma awoke to the sound of nothing in particular except the usual noises of mid-morning. After glancing at her alarm clock, which was set for 10:30 and now read 10:29, she yawned and resignedly shut off the switch. The scientist sat up and stretched until her spine emitted several loud pops: it was Saturday; she thought randomly, which meant the offices were closed and she was free to do whatever she wanted.

Perhaps, she mused, it would be a good day to start on some of her side projects – then afterward, as a reward, she could head to the salon and get her hair done. She ran a hand through her disheveled curls thoughtfully; her perm was beginning to grow out, and she was in the mood for a new look – maybe something short and straight. Deciding to make an appointment with her personal stylist for later that day, she slid out of bed and walked toward the shower, doffing her shirt along the way. She stared curiously down at her naked body for a moment, feeling that she was somehow missing something. Her eyes scanned the bedroom floor, suddenly coming to rest on her rumpled terry-cloth robe – emerging from one of its pockets was a pair of white cotton panties.

Bulma immediately gave a small shriek; her hands flew to her mouth as reality settled into her numbed brain: "Oh my God; I fucked Vegeta!"


	5. Chapter 5 Capitulation (part 2)

For the first time in many days, Vegeta slept deep and dreamlessly; he awoke promptly at 8:45 from habit, his eyes popping open, and sat up to find himself in his suite of rooms inside Capsule Corp. A couple of beats passed before he instantly recalled everything that happened during the wee hours of the morning in the kitchen with Bulma. Brushing away the thought indifferently, Vegeta stood and stretched, turning his mind toward training.

After grabbing a snack made from what was left of his provisions in the GR, the royal jumped straight into his usual routine. Turning the gravity up to full capacity, he flew through his forms, determined not to allow yesterday's training mishap from crippling him with unsaiyan-like fear. With defiant satisfaction, he witnessed his stamina hold steady as he plowed through an army of training bots, ordering the computer to throw everything it had at him. By the time the program ended, he'd worked out for a solid five hours and at last felt himself on the verge of a very long awaited zenkai boost - dare he hope super saiyan.

He exited the room, filling his lungs with a satisfying quaff of fresh air as he stepped out into the sunlight. He glanced automatically around him, half expecting the meddling inventor to be hovering somewhere nearby, ready to pepper him with small talk. He hoped she wouldn't start making assumptions just because of their brief dalliance - but based on her vain and shallow personality, he doubted he'd get off so lucky. At least banging her had seemed to somewhat settled his nerves.

Following a long, uninterrupted lunch, he took a walk though the house, finding himself at the entrance to the Briefs's atrium where they often entertained guests as well as kept their large menagerie of (he supposed) exotic pets. There in the middle of the patio area, he spotted none other than the Mrs. of the house herself sitting with one of the large carnivorous lizards that roamed around within the enclosure.

He started to walk away again, but she spotted him and gestured enthusiastically for him to enter. Unsure of why he did so, the price slowly opened the door and went inside.

Mrs. Briefs lounged in a large chair, the reptile's massive head in her lap, she stroked it's scaly snout as it emitted something between a growl and a purr through it's knife-like teeth. The entire sight made the prince's skin crawl.

"Hello dear, did you get some lunch," inquired the crazy lady petting the man-eating leviathan.

Vegeta crossed his arms and nodded shortly.

"Have you seen Bulma lately," she then asked with a tilt of her head.

"No."

"Hmm, I suppose she still hasn't come back from her hair appointment, though I would have thought she'd be home by now..."

With a grunt of annoyance, he turned and strode out of the atrium and back to his training.

That evening, he sat in the gardens in his usual spot unwinding from his daily ordeals. His body ached in a very gratifying way; he noted how his forearms and fingertips tingled from so much ki expulsion. Despite a full day of progress without any incidents of debilitating paralysis or interruptions from any household members, he still felt some gnawing sense of unease inside his gut - like another attack could hit him again at any time. Now that he was done for the day he looked around the grounds, finding himself completely alone, and wondered what exactly he was waiting for. With a sharp sigh, he stood up and headed inside.

000

The next morning,following a fairly good night's sleep, he suddenly felt the urge to pause on his way to breakfast to sit at his balcony. He'd never given it much thought before, but from his own window he had a very good view of the grounds and much of the city beyond. For a moment he allowed his mind to go blank as he took in the sights and sounds of the green haven he inhabited surrounded by metropolis, but just a few minutes pause was long enough and Vegeta was ready to go. Right as he started to turn away, he noticed Bulma from the corner of his eye walking briskly toward a nearby landing pad below.

Without thinking, he descended to the ground and watched her from a short distance away as she fumbled with her compact of capsules. She was not dressed for shop-work, nor was she in professional garb. With a brightly patterned, low-cut blouse beneath her jacket, tight fitting cutoffs over tights, and a pair of large sunglasses, she looked ready for what she (no doubt) considered fun. Her hair, he noticed, had also changed yet again. Gone were the large curls piled atop her head, now it lay flat, framing her face. All at once, she looked up as she prepared to toss her chosen capsule and started at seeing him.

"Oh, good morning," she adjusted her glasses and studied the asphalt, "I figured you'd already be busy by this time of day..."

He took several steps toward her, noting the way she avoided eye contact at all cost as he approached.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm taking some time off," she said, then dropped the tiny object she was holding; a helicopter appeared on the tarmac, "If you have any trouble with the GR, or whatever, just talk to my dad and I'll be back in a few days." She turned toward the chopper, throwing a hasty wave over her shoulder. "Bye!"

"You're avoiding me."

She swung around, one hand gripping the chopper door, "What? No I'm not - I just need a break from work, everything isn't about you!"

He crossed his arms obstinately, "You were gone all yesterday as well - your mother said you had a 'hair appointment' - does chopping off your hair really take the entire day?"

Her hand flew self-consciously to her cerulean locks, "Shut up! I had other errands yesterday - and I don't need to run my schedule by you!" She turned once again to board the aircraft and paused. Vegeta watched her with his usual dour expression. Sighing in defeat, she faced him and removed her sunglasses, "Listen Vegeta, about the other night, you're right - I have been avoiding you. You see I wasn't really thinking straight and...I was hoping maybe we could just forget about what-"

"You've taken the day off?" He interrupted.

"Well, yes, but that's not the point-"

"Good. I have something to show you." His gaze shifted inexplicably off into the distance.

She was surprised to find it was not in the direction of the gravity room. "Right now? Show me what?"

"Something I discovered while training in the wastelands the other day - I thought it might interest you."

She looked from him to her awaiting transportation, thinking about her hotel reservations for a moment, but feeling her better judgement starting to loose out once again.

000

Fifteen minutes later, Vegeta landed and disentangled Bulma's arms from around his neck, plucking her clawed fingers out of his hair and setting her none too gently down on her own two feet. The frazzled woman's legs almost immediately gave out and she fell backward, caught at the last moment by Vegeta's index finger jabbing against her spine.

"Get a hold of yourself, woman," he admonished her disgustedly, "you act as if this is the first time your feet have ever left the ground!"

"Well, usually," she shot back, "I'm the one who has the controls when I fly, and that's how I like it."

"Indeed," he muttered. Vegeta turned and took several steps forward, looking out onto the desert plateaus before them. Bulma did the same, wondering what she was supposed to be looking at.

"So this is where you went when you left the compound that day," she mused aloud; when he didn't respond she went on, "what did you take me out here to see first thing in the morning?"

"Look," he pointed to a cluster of stones at the base of the mesa.

Bulma frowned until she realized that the stones were actually little houses built into the rock wall, complete with small windows and multiple storeys.

"Those places were probably built centuries ago by ancient desert people, but no one lives there now," she informed him. "Why did you want to show them to me?"

"These domiciles are much like the ones I remember from my childhood - before Frieza blew up my planet," he stared past the mesa as if through time and space to somewhere that now existed nowhere accept within his own memory. "It's strange that I never gave them a second glance back then, yet I can now picture them so vividly."

Bulma gaped at the exiled prince. The longer she knew him, the more surprised she was of what she discovered beneath this slowly melting glacier of disdain. She stepped closer and reached for his hand; he didn't pull away. Squeezing lightly, she said, "Thank you for showing me."

He made no reply accept for a slight inclination of his head. A breeze swept past, blowing sand and debris in their faces; Vegeta seemed not to notice, but Bulma thought of how tousled her hair must be after the harrowing trip over and how overall arid and uncomfortable the desert was. She was suddenly reminded that she was a city girl, and though she was touched by this unexpected revelation from Vegeta, wondered how much longer he wanted to stand out here staring at a bunch of giant rocks. A low rumble abruptly answered her discomfort from the cavern of Vegeta's own stomach.

Their eyes met and Bulma smirked, "I'll make a deal with you: I'll treat you to breakfast if you let me drive this time, "She pulled out a capsule and raised her eyebrows at him.

000

Bulma did her best to ignore the stickiness under her feet and the less than pristine table top where her half-eaten hash browns smeared in ketchup sat. She concentrated instead on the man in the booth across from her putting away stacks of carbohydrates like leftovers down a garbage disposal. He looked up at her between mouthfuls - "What's the matter - not hungry," he eyed the pushed-around food on her plate.

"I already had something earlier this morning," she replied, setting her fork down. Truthfully, the greasy fare was not much to her taste - though that hadn't always been the case. She'd often visited dumps just like this when she and Yamcha were teenagers - especially after nights of too much partying when lots of starchy food was needed to sober up quickly. Although the food was cheap, she'd mainly brought the hungry man here because of the large portions - knowing full well he wasn't particular about where his calories came from.

"Where are you heading after this," her taskmaster now demanded to know.

"Hm? Oh, to the beach," she said, suddenly remembering her hastily planned and out of season trip.

Vegeta concentrated on cutting a sausage as he spoke, "And when do you plan to return?"

"In five days..."

"Then I suppose I can make due with the old man while you're away," he conceded dryly, popping a piece into his mouth.

"So you like me better than my dad, at least," She winked teasingly at him.

Vegeta suddenly choked, causing his companion to lean toward him in alarm - "Are you okay?"

He gave his chest several hard thumps, finally managing to dislodge the obstruction; his face was inordinately red when he spoke again. "Don't be ridiculous - I only meant that you're more accessible than - _I don't care_!"

Bulma felt her own face flush and attempted to cover her embarrassment with a laugh, "No of course not, I don't either; I was just joking!" The two of them stared at the table in awkward silence; Bulma glanced at her watch, "Well, it's getting late, and I'm sure you have training to do - I'll just go pay and as soon as you're finished we can both get going."

The prince and Bulma went their separate ways after the restaurant with the heiress heading to check into her resort. While absently unpacking her luggage, the events of the morning replayed endlessly in her head.

She'd been so certain she'd handed him yet another weapon to use against her following their night together; she'd braced herself for anything from gloating to outright disdain, but she'd never expected the reticent, even vulnerable man she'd seen today. She'd always believed Vegeta capable of kindness (though at times he sorely tested that theory) but suddenly an entirely new dimension to the man was opening up to her - she thought she liked it.

Brushing aside her whirling thoughts for the moment, Bulma grabbed her bathing suit, determined to enjoy the vacation that she'd booked in full panic mode.

000

Vegeta rushed back home, eager to make up for lost time. He felt a sudden vigor stirring within him that he didn't want to waste - possibly it was all the starches he'd consumed turning to sugar in his system - but he wondered if there wasn't something more to it. He hadn't intended to bring her out to the wastelands to show her dilapidated dwellings and gush about his past; the only reason he'd blurted out the suggestion was to shut her up on the subject of where their post-coitus relationship was going. He needed to stop thinking about her entirely; he couldn't afford to let himself be distracted when he was so close to reaching his goal.

As soon as he reached Capsule Corp. Vegeta leapt into his gravity room and remained there until a blip on the overhead monitor caused him to glance up from his push-ups to see Dr. Briefs and his cat staring down at the saiyan.

"There's dinner ready if you'd like to join us," offered the scientist as he regularly did whenever Vegeta's workouts went over the usual time. Vegeta responded with his customary scoff and returned to practice until the screen went black once more. He then paused in mid-punch, sweat dripping off his face, ragged pants issuing from a dry throat, and abruptly lowered his arm. He barked an order at the computer and the gravity immediately lowered. Promptly the prince strode to the shower.

"Oh!" gasped Mrs Briefs as Vegeta entered the dining room several minutes later bathed and dressed in clothes bought by Bulma for him months ago, but never worn until that night. "How nice to see you, dear, don't you look dapper!" She looked at her husband, "Doesn't Vegeta look dapper, darling?"

Dr. Briefs merely grinned and waved toward a chair. Vegeta took the seat already doubting his decision to dine with the Briefs - something he'd never done while Bulma wasn't there - one less buffer now stood between him and her beaming mother.

"I made extra just in case you decided to join us," she motioned toward whole sides of beef and great platters piled with sides. There was even one plate filled with the woman's fantastic danishes for desert.

 _Danish day,_ the prince thought wistfully, _happiest of all days._ He knew full well that she made virtually all of the food they ate even though, with all the Briefs's money at her disposal, she didn't need to. Aside from a possible desperation to feel needed, he wondered if it was kindness that compelled her to work so hard - or merely stupidity as he'd always assumed; he wasn't even sure if there was a difference.

Vegeta gave a small grunt of assent and began helping his plate. Following his usual habit, the dinner guest concentrated on his meal and did not engage in conversation. However, he had little choice but to listen as Dr. and Mrs. Briefs conversed:

"Today I was out getting ingredients when I saw a duckling had fallen into a storm drain," The woman was telling her husband.

The doctor looked concerned, "What did you do?"

"Well, I finally managed to scoop him out, but then I had to walk all the way down to the pond in my new shoes and they got stuck in the mud," she tittered behind her hand, "but I was able to return him to his family, so it was worth it."

"You could have brought him here as a friend for Scratch," suggested her husband.

"Oh, I think he's happier with his mother," Mrs. Briefs insisted, "I'll just have to go out and buy new shoes tomorrow."

Vegeta could only gawk at them in exasperation. Stupidity, he decided. It was definitely stupidity.

Just as he was about to snatch several danishes and walk out, he caught the look shared between the two. He was suddenly stunned by an energy that he'd never recognized before - he quickly realized that if this was what happiness looked like, then he had never experienced a happy day in his life.

000

He stood with his feet planted far apart on the tiled floors, systematically taking out training bots. The computer must have been running a different program than usual, because the automatons he fought looked strange - yet not unfamiliar. Waves of Frieza's men battered themselves against him only to be smashed to pieces. He saw Dodoria, Zarbon, and the entire Ginyu Force among them and many more he did not know the names of. He saw the inhabitants of entire planets that he'd wiped out, including the namekians. He saw Nappa. Still Vegeta never slowed in his progress of destruction, the corpses piling up around him and yet the room never filled up.

The screen above his head revealed the face of Freiza leering down at him. "Destroy them all like a good monkey," sneered the reptilian overlord. Vegeta's feverish pace increased; with a roar he blasted through the remainder of them until only one opponent was standing. A lone figure - glowing with power - hovered above the slain. Kakarrot as super saiyan stared dispassionately down at him.

The rightful heir to the legendary locked eyes with the usurper who dared feign superiority. His rage was an inferno that incinerated his insides and consumed his entire being with an impossible intensity as he met the abomination in midair. The terrific bang issuing from his palm encompassed the totality of his hatred and malice, rending the golden head cleanly from its body. Panting raggedly, the prince glowered down at his quarry. Instead of Kakkarot however, a decapitated Bulma Briefs now lay sprawled on top of the dead pile.

Vegeta awoke with a gasp. His sheets lay wadded around his ankles, his pillow rent to pieces in his hands. He sat up, surveying the dark room, the clock on the side table glared 3:02 in angry red digits. Another nightmare - the first one in more than a week yet shockingly vivid - the final image seared into his eyelids like a fire brand. He got up, splashing cold water on his face and gulped copiously out of his palm while he wondered what the horrendous vision involving Bulma could possibly mean. Now wide awake he weighed his options and (despite the subject matter of the dream - or possibly because of it) immediately decided to train.

Dully he headed for the sanctuary of his GR. When he arrived and switched on the light he found the power cut off. After trying the switch again a couple more times with the same effect the befuddled insomniac began to grow annoyed. He strode into the middle of the room, "Wake up you piece of junk and begin the program," he snarled. The room remained lifeless. "Shit," muttered the Saiyan, clenching and unclenching his fists. A new idea to tear the machine to pieces occurred to him even though he knew it would bring only fleeting satisfaction followed by much grief. Aside from which, something didn't make sense: the power for his training facilities shared its source with the rest of the compound, and the electricity had been working inside the house.

He wondered for a moment if someone had sabotaged it, but immediately dismissed this as baseless paranoia brought on by his current state of mind. Forming another idea, he instead stomped back out toward Capsule Corp and the control room. Light glowed suspiciously through the crack beneath the door as he approached the room that communicated to his chamber. Without hesitation, he flung it open. "What's going on!"

A piercing shriek answered him followed by a loud thud, then Bulma was sprawled on the floor at his feet clutching her head.

" _You_?" balked Vegeta, gaping incredulously down at her, and trying not to picture the headless woman in his dream.

She glared, red-faced, up at him, tears beading in the corners of her eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you - you crazy bastard!" she roared.

Vegeta then noticed an open panel below the control console with a suspicious tangle of wires hanging out of it. Bulma got to her knees, rubbing her head furiously where she'd apparently bonked it upon his sudden entrance.

"What are you doing here instead of on vacation," accused Vegeta.

"I came back," she snapped, struggling to her feet, "because I couldn't stop thinking about work and your stupid gravity room!"

Vegeta eyed the open panel, "What about it?"

"I just had some ideas for some system upgrades and I wanted to work on them while they were still fresh in my mind, so I came back earlier this evening," her eyes narrowed at him, "I didn't realize you were also in the habit of training in the middle of the night."

He remained silent for a moment surveying the room, he then looked back at her, "What sort of upgrades?"

"Well," sighed the tech savant, leaning wearily against the console and pushing a hand through her short, straight locks, "now it should be able to handle all the commands you throw at it without crashing, and the programs will be faster and more challenging - I thought I'd let it be a surprise when you got up to train later this morning...so much for that!"

"I see," he replied belatedly after a long pause. The two stared at each other, "How's your head," he added as an afterthought.

She touched the place and and then winced slightly, "I'll have a knot; but I guess it's not a concussion."

"And you're still working?"

"I was just finishing up."

"Very well, then." Vegeta walked up to where she was leaning and shoved her into a sitting position on the console, gripping all of her short haircut tightly in one fist. Bulma gasped sharply and was quick to wrap her legs around him.

000

Weeks passed, Vegeta continued to train, now in the upgraded GR, with varying degrees of success. He'd initially been excited by the new installations, but was growing frustrated with his slow progress. Once again, despite everything he tried, super saiyan continued to elude him. He sat in his usual spot in the gardens, stewing over practice, when Bulma sat down beside him. He spared her a glance before returning to his brooding. The inventor herself said nothing and the two sat in silence.

"Well," Vegeta spoke at last, stretching until his shoulders popped loudly, "I have about fifteen minutes, so if you want to do this, then let's get going."

"Actually, I need to talk to you about something."

"...So talk."

"She took a deep breath and released it. He glared at her impatiently, "Did something happen to th-"

"Before you finish that thought, this has nothing to do with your stupid gravity room."

"Who said anything about that," he scoffed, "Well, what is it then?"

"It's about me: I'm pregnant." She looked at him expectantly.

He stared blankly back. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Nothing! I just thought you might like to know - since you're the _father_."

He analyzed her midsection critically, "How long will it take?"

"I'm only about two months along," she crossed her arms over her stomach, " _geez_!"

"I don't know how long an earth-woman's gestation period is supposed to be," Vegeta retorted as he stood and stretched some more, "At any rate, hopefully it'll take more after its saiyan heritage and not be a complete weakling."

"Why; would you take more of an interest in a strong child?"

"Probably not," he huffed, "Now if you aren't going to do anything other than talk to me, then I have other things to attend to."

She watched him saunter away, "Jerk," she muttered to his back. Still, it wasn't the worst reaction she had imagined coming from him.

000

The door to his suite banged open as the ragged warrior dragged himself inside, peeling clothing off as he crossed the room to his shower. He hardly felt up to facing anyone tonight, much less sitting through another dinner with the Briefs. Despite pushing himself until he'd collapsed, he'd failed to achieve the zenkai boost he'd hoped for. Instead, He'd come to only to find the power setting back at regular gravity - a safety feature included in Bulma's upgrade, he realized with infuriation. Time was running out for him to unlock super saiyan - soon the androids would be here and he still remained Kakarrot's inferior. The thought was inconceivable; something was sabotaging him!

The image of himself in a full-length mirror caught his eye as he stomped past; Vegeta froze and took a step back. There he stood, stripped down with nothing left concealing him. The dream from months ago (Frieza's visage sneering down at him from the GR monitor) suddenly came to mind. His whole life he'd been merely a mercenary with a pedigree for the wretched overlord. He'd always understood what was expected of him, and had at least enjoyed a sense of superiority among his fellow slaves while relishing his hatred for the despot that owned his life. The ki bullet shot by Frieza that ripped through his heart that day should have brought it all to an end. But then he'd awakened.

He did not recognize the man before him now who slept in a soft bed and lived an infernally quiet life, mooning after a woman from a race he wouldn't have hesitated to exterminate only a couple of short years ago, who even now carried his offspring within her. Only specters in an endless stream of nightmares remained anymore to remind the shell of a warrior, adopted and neutered like just another stray by the Briefs family, of who he'd once been.

Vegeta, gazing intently at the stranger in the mirror, raised his arms and pressed his left palm into the back of his right hand.

"Galick gun!"

The Briefs heard the blast from the dining room; Mrs. Briefs grasped the pot of sloshing soup on the table. Bulma grabbed onto the back of her father's chair, toppling them both.

"What was that; an earthquake?"

Dr. Breifs and Bulma helped each other back on their feet. "It sounded like something exploded upstairs," gasped Bulma as bits of plaster rained down over the family and their meal.

The three scurried to the upper floor, finding Vegeta's door hanging open and a pile of debris littering the area. Bulma let out a small scream and stumbled toward the room.

"Dearest, be careful," cried her mother.

Bulma stopped short as she entered - an enormous smoldering hole had been blasted through the wall to the outside. Vegeta was nowhere to be found.

000

Later that evening, Bulma made her way to the GR. She stood outside the eerily quiet room - certain of the saiyan's presence within but still hesitating to knock. She knew she ought to be furious - demand an explanation for the wanton destruction to her house. The action was capricious even for Vegeta and something filled her with dread at the thought of what their conversation might lead to; whatever reason the surly beyonder had for blowing a hole through Capsule Corp, she didn't think she wanted to know. She turned and strode away, resolving to talk to him the following day.

The next day turned into over a week. Bulma did not see Vegeta, nor did she seek him out. He did not show up for meals with the family, nor did he visit her while she worked either to complain or otherwise. He did not slip into her room at night as he had been know to do from time to time during the past couple months. Bulma told herself that it was probably because he was 'on the cusp of ascending' as he was fond of referring to the elusive state of super saiyan. She hoped so; she didn't know how much more everyone's nerves could take. There was a feeling that something had to give soon.

Inevitably, their paths crossed one Monday as Bulma headed out for a business luncheon. Vegeta was making his way to the house, arms crossed and head dipped pensively. His obsidian eyes cut upward beneath the thunderhead of his brows as she approached. Immediately, he changed direction. Bulma stopped and sighed wearily; she turned and called after him, "Vegeta, can we talk for a minute?"

The wall of hair slowed, his head swiveled halfway around, not fully facing her.

"We haven't seen you for a few days; it's nice to know you didn't die in that gravity room."

"What do you want," he spat.

What _did_ she want, she wondered. She was trying to reason with the most contrary and unaccountable ass currently on the planet - why was she fighting to hold on to a relationship that had all the substantiality of a puff of smoke? "I don't know," she turned to leave once again, "just forget it."

"This has something to do with my blowing up your house I suppose," she heard him call after her.

Scientist and saiyan faced one another. "Why; do you have an explanation for that?"

The dark prince gave a dismissive shrug, "Maybe I'm just weary of this place - and of you."

Bulma released a short (and perhaps a bit too loud) laugh and retorted, "That's rich! You have access to the best training facilities - built to your specifications - that this planet has to offer, and on top of that a beautiful genius maintains everything for you, but if that still isn't good enough then why don't you try to find somewhere else that's better!"

"I already have found somewhere that's better," he shot back, watching the surprised look bloom across her face, "Space."

"Space?"

"That's right. What I need is to be able to train without a gaggle of twits constantly pestering me - or having to be reminded about your annoying brat," he glared accusatorily at her growing midsection. She automatically clasped her unborn child protectively. "I've already settled it with your father, and I am going to take a ship as soon as it's finished being prepared for me - I'll stay there until I have achieved super saiyan."

Bulma absorbed his words silently for a moment. "I see. Then you should go."

The prince suddenly bristled, "I wasn't asking your permission!"

"Of course not; you obviously see us - namely me - as a hindrance to you, even though all I ever do is fix everything you break - including _yourself_ at times. But I guess it's still somehow my fault that you can't hack it."

"No, it's _my_ fault," he corrected sharply. "I allowed myself to grow soft living here; instead of remembering my saiyan heritage, I lowered my guard and allowed myself to get infected by temptations and weak emotions," he gazed meaningfully at her, "but I will not permit that to happen again - ever."

"Fine. Do whatever you want," she shrugged flippantly, "now if you'll excuse me, you're not the only one that has somewhere else to be."

Bulma watched until the man disappeared behind a hedge before she changed direction and stormed back to the house. She found her mother in the solarium watering plants.

"So, have you heard the wonderful news yet?" She announced loudly to her mother's back; the woman jumped, dropping her watering can.

"Bulma, what are you doing here? I thought you were heading to a meeting."

"Vegeta is going to space to train!" the younger woman plunged on without listening.

"Oh dear, when will he be back?"

"Who knows? Whenever he becomes a super saiyan...or runs out of food - whichever comes first," she threw her hands up and dropped into an Adirondack chair, " _Arrgh_!"

"That's too bad; I'm going to miss him."

"Really? I'm not; things should be a lot quieter around here for a change."

"Then why do you sound so upset?"

"I'm just thinking of all the expenses he's incurring - taking a ship into deep space: the cost of the rocket fuel alone will be astronomical!"

Mrs. Briefs clipped several marigold blooms and placed them in a vase, "Do you think he'll be back in time for the baby to be born?"

"What difference does it make" Bulma eyed the colorful flowers sitting on the table beside her, "frankly, fatherhood is not in his wheelhouse. In fact, I don't even know that I would want him to be a part of my baby's life."

"But you may change your mind later on," her mother beamed optimistically.

"Why, when I can easily provide everything this baby will ever need? Vegeta can't even provide emotional support," She huffed loudly, slumping further into her chair, "Boy, was I wrong about him!"

"How's that, dear?"

"He thinks he used me to get what he wanted, but I got what I wanted too, and I think I came out with the better end of the of the deal," she placed a hand over her womb, "Here's one person, at least, who isn't going to leave me behind - even if all of my friends do!"

She remembered her looming luncheon with a groan; suddenly she felt her stomach churn. Hastily, Bulma jumped up and ran to the nearest clump of shrubs, heaving her breakfast into them - her mother scurried over to her side.

"Bulma, are you alright?"

"J-just morning sickness," mumbled the mother-to-be between retches. Her stomach finally empty, she accepted the handkerchief Mrs. Briefs offered and wiped her mouth. For several moments more she remained hunched over the bushes sniffling and then all at once burst into tears.

"Oh dear!"

"Don't get the wrong idea," she croaked out as her mother's arms wrapped around her, "it's just these damned hormones!"


	6. Chapter 6 Potential

CHAPTER 6

Bulma sat up from her work with a long stretch, her back and limbs emitting a series of pops and crackles as she slowly stood up from two hours of hunching over minuscule machinery parts. Rubbing her eyes vigorously several times she squinted up at the clock. 12:01 it read. The scientist grimaced, then cast a cautious glance toward the playpen in the corner of the room that contained her young son. A pleased smile spread across her face that he'd slept so well and allowed her to work uninterrupted for what had turned out to be a very productive couple of hours. Most likely, she predicted, he would sleep soundly through the majority of the remaining night.

Gently, she lifted him and carried the infant into her room where she laid him in his crib. From the window facing out onto the lawn she caught a telltale glow pulsating dimly off in the distance and frowned anxiously. She'd seen the man occupying the room built by her father for a full five minutes that day, the rest of the time he'd made himself quite scarce. Not that she'd had much time to think about it, the day being completely occupied as it was with her best friend's funeral and the seeing off of her son from the future. With the conclusion of the cell games, everyone had plenty to mull over for many months to come - including the elusive man inside the chamber.

Still...

"Vegeta," she sighed. She briefly wondered if he'd had any dinner, but remembered earlier when she'd been looking for Trunk's baby food, finding a sizable section of the pantry already raided. Obviously whatever private crisis he was going through at the moment he wasn't letting himself starve to death in the meantime.

 _'promising,'_ she thought, _'then it couldn't possibly be that bad.'_

The enlightening conversation she'd had with Gohan at Goku's memorial ceremony still played through her mind: Vegeta's rage at the death of Trunks by Cell's hand and afterward his candid concession of inferiority to the nine-year-old who'd eventually defeated the monster. That the ever haughty saiyan prince could utterly drop all his barriers in one swift instant like that spoke volumes for the depth of his true emotion. Even though he hadn't attended the funeral, Bulma also knew that his rival's death must also be weighing heavily on Vegeta's mind. All of it combined must be nearly more strain than his aloof pride could handle (not exactly the best circumstances under which to pay him a visit she realized, but she'd never claimed herself to be the most rational of human beings).

She thought about using the comm system to check in on him, but immediately decided against it. She wanted to speak to him in person, not over a machine; besides, she had issues of her own that kept her up into these wee small hours and companionship would be nice for both of them.

She knew she wasn't disturbing anything, he obviously wasn't training. All was quiet within - an odd contrast to what had become the norm for the past three years. Bulma rapped her knuckles on the metal door and waited for a response. None was forthcoming, so with her own key she unlocked the gravity room and made her way inside.

"Vegeta," the woman said to the darkened room. Above her head the large screen that served as a two-way communication between the GR and the main house was switched to a station with snow - its white noise and flickering light was her only response.

Bulma ventured further into the unlit sanctum, opening her mouth again to call the saiyan only to jump with a strangled cry as a compact, spiky-haired silhouette materialized in front of her.

"Cripes," gasped the blue-haired woman, clutching her chest, "are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I don't recall giving you permission to enter," the lofty voice informed her dully.

"Well the last time I checked," Bulma fumbled for the light switch, "this was still my family's property." Flicking it on she turned once again to the now scowling Vegeta who shielded his eyes from the sudden light flooding the room.

"Vegeta..."

"Damn it, I'm in no mood for your meddling tonight, woman." He instantly flung the offending switch back to the off position with an imperceptible flick, as if doing so would also effectively shut her up, and stalked away. Bulma, however (as they both well knew) was hardly so easy to shut off.

"I didn't come here to meddle," she said calmly, watching his hazy outline cross to the other end of the gravity room and take a seat. After waiting a moment or two she cautiously took a few steps toward him, "I just came because I felt like talking to you...Is that okay, or should I leave?"

There was a long pause in which Bulma wondered whether he would even answer, then abruptly he replied, "Do whatever you want."

Encouraged by the hopeful response, she walked the rest of the way over to where he sat and took up the empty space next to him on the small couch. For a while, neither of them spoke, however it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Bulma slid back and allowed her mind to drift over the day's events. She remembered her teenaged son just before he left for his own time and began to miss him all over again, but sitting beside the man responsible for his existence was somehow comforting. At least _her_ Vegeta wasn't dead, and she had that Trunks to thank for it.

"So where's the brat," inquired Vegeta without warning, as if picking up on the train of her thoughts.

Bulma turned to him and blinked, unsure if she should be more surprised that he'd initiated the conversation or that it was about their son. "Asleep," she answered bewilderedly, "it's after midnight, you know."

The dark-haired man grunted dismissively, "I just thought that either you or your mother always had him in your sight at all times; so you actually do leave him unattended for any amount of time?"

"Of course," she huffed: leave it to Vegeta to make basic parenting sound like she was some sort of overprotective basket case. "He's perfectly capable of at least sleeping for a little while without me."

Vegeta made no reply and for several moments more the two of them were silent.

"You know, Gohan asked about you at Son-kun's funeral today," she finally said, "I think he was disappointed that you didn't show up."

The usually aristocratic saiyan crossed his arms and flopped unceremoniously against the cushion. "I can't imagine why he'd expect me there; it's not as if I ever had any profound fondness for Kakkarot...he was an idiot."

"He was also your rival and the only fellow member of your race, not to mention the earth's savior," pointed out Bulma, gazing curiously at his shadowy face.

"And now he's dead. Everyone's being sad isn't going to change that. Your sentimentality is a waste of time; I'm sure Kakkarot isn't moping around and feeling sorry for himself wherever the hell he is right now."

She considered the truth of the statement. "Hm, good point - but that still doesn't mean he won't be missed." Bulma's eyes drifted thoughtfully to the snowy screen above and she paused before adding, "it must mean something to you as well, Vegeta."

The spiky-haired man turned and gave her what she assumed in the dimness was a sharp look, "Why would it? I just told you I don't care about that moron or his son; whatever happens to any of them doesn't concern me!"

With effort, the growingly irritated woman bit back the quick retort that automatically formed on her lips; she was determined not to argue with him tonight. Instead, she did her best to focus on what the obstinate prince wasn't putting into words. Slowly, she let out a long sigh, "I get it; so then what now?"

The saiyan paused, exchanging his defensiveness for bemusement, "What?"

"Well, now that there's no one left to beat, no more enemies, what will you do?"

For a moment, he made no reply, but seemed to honestly puzzle the question himself. After waiting a few seconds for her words to sink in, Bulma felt it safe to press him further, "Will you still use this room? Will you even still stay here?"

"You want me gone," he quickly retorted, an edge of challenge to voice.

"I didn't say that; you know you're welcome to remain in this home as long as you like...I would never have invited you if I hadn't wanted you here." She watched him closely, noting that his clenched posture seemed to loosen ever so slightly, his broad shoulders sinking almost imperceptively as with the exhalation of a held breath. "I would have hoped that you'd come to see it as your own home by now - not to mention it would be nice for Trunks to grow up knowing his father this time around." Admittedly, she hadn't always felt that way, but much had happened between the time he'd abandoned them to train in space and today.

There was another long pause. Vegeta was no longer facing her, but leaned forward and turned slowly to gaze up at the flickering screen that now bathed his face in its ghostly artificial light; his rugged features appearing pale and gaunt within its glow. "Bulma," he began finally.

She watched his jaw clench and unclench and waited patiently for him to continue.

"I don't know anything accept battle; war has always been my only reality," his lips drew back into a fearsome grimace, "so how is someone like me supposed to suddenly embrace a quiet, peaceful life? What use do I have for a family!"

Bulma at first thought the light was flickering, but abruptly realized that it was Vegeta trembling violently beside her. Within an instant, the man was up and standing in the center of the room. Raising both fists above his head he swiftly brought them down upon the floor with such concussive force that an arcing wave of misplaced tile rose up and suddenly blasted both woman and couch several feet into the air along its violent course. Bulma landed back on its cushions with a slam that knocked the breath out of her lungs, the furniture's wooden frame splintering heavily beneath her upon impact with the ruined floor. A deep crater left from his fists punctured the solid metal where Vegeta knelt, panting raggedly.

"That bastard! He took everything from me! There's nothing left now - nothing left for me! I'm _finished_ , I have _nothing_!" He suddenly whipped his twisted countenance toward Bulma - traces of the monitor's glow highlighting the primal snarl that contorted his face, " _What use am I anymore?_ "

The woman gaped wordlessly back at her longtime housemate and sometime lover, unable to break free from the saiyan's terrifying glare. She'd seen Vegeta throw numerous temper tantrums over the years, but never had his fury felt so palpable to her. She got the strong sensation that it might crush her through sheer proximity alone.

Before she could decide whether to remain plastered against the upholstery in terror or make a hasty retreat from the GR, once again without warning, the rage radiating from the prince inexplicably dissipated and his face softened before her enormous eyes. Abruptly releasing her from his gaze, he lowered his head and sagged benignly to the floor - much like the broken sofa she now sat on.

After an ample allowance of time for her heart to return to a normal rate, Bulma eventually rose from the ruined couch and stepped carefully over. She squatted down beside him and waited for the prince to acknowledge her. Gradually Vegeta looked up, his eyes darted to her mouth then he glanced away again.

Putting a hand to her lip she presently understood: a warm dark liquid on her fingertips revealed where she'd apparently bitten it when she'd hit the floor.

"I'm sorry, Bulma," he muttered with a weary sigh, pulling himself back to his feet. Vegeta then reached down and took the mother of his child by the hand, gently lifting her up as well. "Sorry for a lot of things, actually," he snorted dryly, "I guess I'm an even bigger idiot than Kakkarot after all." The prince turned and took several steps away as she stared mystified after him. Halting several paces off, he crossed his arms and began absently surveying the enclosure.

"Vegeta?"

"Yes; as a matter of fact I will continue to use this room," he announced forthwith, all the while with his back still facing her, "and as soon as Trunks is old enough, I'll begin training him here as well. The brat's got potential, and if Kakkarot's son could so easily surpass his sire - imagine what power the son of an elite is capable of wielding."

A wry smirk slowly spread across the inventor's face at Vegeta's capricious subject change. Bulma placed her hands tauntingly on her hips, "So now you want to turn my son into the most powerful being in the universe - how ambitious of you, but shouldn't you run something like that by me first?"

"I'm not about to let what remains of my heritage go to complete waste because you insist on raising a soft, feckless weakling," the saiyan was quick to retort.

For the sake of lasting congeniality Bulma decided to ignore the comment (she'd learned to pick her battles) and instead breathed a quiet sigh of relief over the situation's fortuitous resolution.

"Well, speaking of Trunks it is getting late and I really should get back to him." The woman paused, regretting that her brief and all too rare company with him was now coming to an end, "I just stopped by to catch up, but I'd better be going." She cast a glance back over her shoulder as she pulled the door open "Good night, Vegeta." Vegeta's back remained to her, but his head inclined ever so slightly to the side in acknowledgement of her going.

crossing back over the lawn and through the house, Bulma slipped silently back to her room to find the chubby lavender-haired boy still sleeping soundly in his crib. The baby's mother beamed down at him, brushing her fingers briefly over his fuzzy head before heading to the dresser to pull out her pajamas.

Bulma paused amidst riffling through night clothes as her eye fell randomly on a silky pink slip wadded up in the corner of the drawer. The realization dawned on her that she hadn't worn negligee for many months - certainly not since the birth of Trunks (or during the larger part of her pregnancy for that matter) really not since she and Vegeta had called it quits. Thoughtfully, she replaced the cotton button-down and bottoms she'd initially selected and pulled out the small lacy article instead, inspecting it. Resolutely slipping it on, she stopped before the full-length mirror to momentarily admire its effect. She nodded her approval at the reflection before retreating into her bathroom to finish readying for bed.

By the time fifteen after one rolled around and she'd finally layed down and pulled the comforter up to her chin, Bulma belatedly discovered she really wasn't very sleepy after all. Without entirely knowing why, she continually caught herself glancing toward the door and straining at every slight creak. Just because she'd shared a small exchange with her somewhat unhinged estranged lover, why was she suddenly acting like she expected him to show up any minute and hop into bed with her? She certainly hadn't given him any indication that that was what she wanted (at least not intentionally).

"What's wrong with me," she huffed, flopping determinedly over and shutting her eyes. "I'm going to sleep now!" The over stimulated woman resolved to empty all the thoughts of the day - especially the peculiar conversation with Vegeta - from her aggravatingly analytical brain.

She'd only just begun to truly unwind when a definitive thump sounded somewhere in the distance. Having none of it, Bulma kept both eyes clamped shut - probably just her father getting up for something, or the cat jumping down from somewhere. She slid further into relaxation, any moment now and long awaited sleep would claim her. Not until she heard a sharp rustle and felt the covers being pulled back did she hesitantly crack open a single blue orb in the darkness. Within a moment, she found herself joined by a warm, muscular torso that smelled faintly of musk and a recent shower. In spite of her deep drowsiness, Bulma smiled as she ran a hand slowly down the inhumanly defined bicep that reached over and placed its broad hand on the back of her silk nightwear.

"G'night Vegeta," she murmured contentedly.

The prince muttered something in reply, but Bulma didn't catch it; she was already slipping into a deep peaceful slumber.

000

 _This is the last chapter in the Encapsulated series, where Vegeta has more or less accepted his new life. I intended this group of stories to show a gradual progression in his character as he transitions from villain to protagonist and all the angst that might possibly go along with taking that leap. It was a real challenge getting inside his head and constantly finding the right balance between callous and considerate but hopefully I was able to get his character about right. Thank you for reading, reviewing and favoriting!_


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